


7734

by matty_macgregor, ZoneRobotnik



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood and Gore, M/M, Murder, Secret Identity, Vigilante AU, justice doesn't have a name, keith is bound and determined to bring this vigilante down, mention of past klance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-04-24 20:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matty_macgregor/pseuds/matty_macgregor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoneRobotnik/pseuds/ZoneRobotnik
Summary: Crime is rampant, and that's bad enough, but now there's a murdering vigilante on the loose in Keith's town and this cop isn't going to let him do as he likes!





	1. Sloppy

**Author's Note:**

> Voltron (c) Netflix & Dreamworks
> 
> (A/N: This chapter was written by matty_macgregor)

Keith looked at the mangled body. The first word that popped into his mind was  _ sloppy _ .

All around him, policemen were setting up a perimeter. Yellow tape was being unrolled to cordon off the crime scene. Already, curious onlookers were stopping to watch, craning their neck to get a glimpse of the corpse.

Keith ignored them—it was all background noise, not important. He crouched to get a better look, narrowing his eyes. Shiro had told him when he’d been made detective to always go with his first impression. That advice had yet to be proven false.  _ Sloppy _ was the first thing that popped into his mind and it still fitted no matter how he looked at this.

Whoever this poor guy had been had certainly gotten on the wrong side of some nasty people. The wounds covering the body showed unrestrained violence. A dozen cuts covered him from head to toe, shallow enough that the victim would have died of bloodless had it not been for the mortal blow to his heart.

He wasn’t a forensics analysis however so he’d live that to Pidge and her team of geeks.

He straightened, looking around him. There was little blood on the pavement, not the kind of puddles one would expect if this guy had been murdered here. There were scuff marks near the body that had yet to be identified. If Keith had to hazard a guess, he’d say this was gang-related. It was too messy to be the mob but too clean to have been done by a first-time murderer.

Pidge Holt arrived next with her gaggle of assistants and helpers. She was a short, brown-haired woman in her early twenties, a rising star amongst her forensics world. She had discovered new breakthrough methods to analyze crime scene data, so much that a lot of people wondered why she wasn’t traveling the world to give conferences rather than collect samples an ordinary technician. Personally, Keith was thankful for her presence; she was one of the smartest people he knew. Without her, a lot of crimes would have gone unsolved.

He moved aside to let her work and went to talk to Lance. Lance had been the first policeman called on the scene. He was right now busy trying to keep the onlookers at bay. Some had even taken out their cellphones, trying to take pictures for whatever gross reasons Keith couldn’t understand.

“Hey, so what do you have for me?” Keith asked.

Lance and he moved aside from the eager crowd. The poor guy looked a little harassed this morning, his brown hair a mess and his blue eyes tired. Keith guessed he’d pulled a double shift again, which would also explain the wrinkles in his uniform.

Lance smiled despite his fatigue. “Hey. So,” he pulled his notepad out of his breast pocket. “Victim’s name is Roger Tremblay, age forty-two, on a work visa from Canada. He was a mechanic. Initial cause of death seems to be a stab through the chest. No family in the States. His employer has yet to be told. Time of death is estimated to have been at around two in the morning. Of course, nobody heard anything.” He waved in annoyance at the tall, decrepit tenement buildings that flanked this backstreet. “My team’s canvassing the nearby streets.”

Keith hummed. “Okay. Who found the body?”

Lance nodded towards two garbage collectors dressed in faded blues. The two men were already being interviewed by another policeman. They looked shaken, their cheeks chalky and their eyes too bright in their face. Keith could imagine the scene easily; they were on their morning run to collect garbage. They stopped at the mouth of this backstreet to empty the dumpster that serviced the nearby buildings, only to stumble upon a partially-hidden mangled body. Not a fun way to start the day.

“Want to know the fun thing, though?” Lance asked with a grin.

Keith quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering what could be amusing in this situation. Lance had a good sense of humour. He was able to make light of harsh situations, and at some point in his early life, Keith had found it attractive; attractive enough to get married at twenty-two, and annoying enough to divorce at twenty-five one adopted daughter later.

“We might have a witness. Say please and I’ll tell you their name.”

“Tell me,  _ officer _ ,” Keith hissed.

Lance pouted before checking his notes. “St. Bartholomew Hospital called the station when a guy named John Mitchell was admitted last night with multiple knife wounds. It was at around one-thirty, half an hour before this guy’s estimated time of death. Coincidence? I think not.”

No, this didn’t seem like a coincidence, especially considering the fact that St. Bart was only a few street corners away.

“I see. I’ll have to talk to this John Mitchell. Thanks, Lance.” He turned to leave before remembering something. “Are you still taking Alicia tonight? You look tired. I can keep her until tomorrow, I don’t mind. I’ll drive her to her her karate class in the morning.”

“What! And miss my girl’s famous Saturday pancakes breakfasts? No way!”

Keith had to smile at this—Lance might have been a shitty husband, he was at least an amazing father.

“All right. I’ll call the school to tell her you’ll be picking her up.”

“What do you think of this, by the way?” Lance asked, nodding towards the body. “Do you think it’s your  _ Daredevil _ ?”

He gave the name a mocking twist. Keith rolled his eyes. Ever since he’d let slip during a telly interview that this vigilante idiot who’d been roaming the city’s streets reminded him of the Marvel hero Daredevil, the name had gained traction. Newspapers and news channels had started calling the guy  _ The real life Daredevil _ , going as far as using drawings of the comic character. There were no clear pictures of the vigilante who operated only at night. Those who had glimpsed him talked about a tall guy dressed in crimson with glowing eyes in a full-face mask. So far, he’d gone only after hardened criminals and known rogues. Thanks to him, gang members, rapists, murderers, and drug dealers who had escaped justice had met their untimely end. Some called it a good thing. Others, like Keith, hated this. He’d sworn to catch the guy whatever the cost. All he needed was a break, one tiny lead. The vigilante was good, though, good enough never to leave anything behind. Not one single drop of blood, not one lost hair, not even one footprint in the dirt. All the police department knew about this guy had been guessed at by forensics, such as his height that had been estimated thanks to the placement of the wounds on his victims’ body.

“No. This isn’t him. It’s too messy.”

Lance’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Come on, Lance, use your eyes. The vigilante is never this sloppy. He doesn’t torture his victims, he outright kills them. He—”

“Keith’s right,” Pidge piped in, suddenly appearing at his elbow. “The victim died of severe blood-loss from his many wounds. The cut between his ribs was angled downwards, not upwards, so it didn’t pierce his heart.” She wrinkled her nose. “Messy.”

Lance looked between them with an exaggerated grimace. “You sound like you admire the guy!”

Pidge shrugged. “I don’t. He’s handy with a blade, I can respect that. Keith, I’m going to wrap this up. I’ll call you later once we have the autopsy report.”

“All right. Thanks, Pidge.” After she had departed, he nodded at Lance. “I’m going to interview the witness. I’ll take Shiro with me. See you later?”

“How about dinner?” Lance asked, smiling winsomely. “Just the three of us—”

“I don’t have time. Good day, Lance.”

Hurting Lance hurt, but Keith didn’t want the man to get the wrong idea. He turned his back to him, making sure Lance knew the conversation was over. They might have divorced three years ago, Keith couldn’t deny there was still attraction between the two of them. What had charmed him when they’d first been made partners hadn’t disappeared. They saw each other almost daily and sometimes grabbed a beer together after a long, hard day. And, sometimes, when Alicia was staying with Lance’s parents, Lance would invite him over for a drink, and Keith would accept, and they’d inevitably fall into bed together. It was so much easier than finding himself a lover or even a one-night stand. Lance was already seduced, after all.

Keith shook his head and texted Shiro who’d stayed behind to do some paperwork. He told him of the witness at St. Bart and to meet him there.

He surveyed the scene one last time, wanting to burn every detail into his memory. Photographs had been taken that he could look over at his leisure, but it was always good to get an impression of the real place. A backstreet between tenements, behind a dumpster, what a shitty last resting place.

Shiro finally texted him, telling him he’d meet with him at the hospital.

-

Keith had to wait almost fifteen minutes for Shiro to arrive. He kept glancing at his phone, wondering what the holdup was. His adoptive brother was usually annoyingly punctual, especially when it came to his job. It was one of the many reasons why he’d been made detective this young, the youngest on the force before Keith actually. He was a sort of star amongst the policemen, beloved by everybody, even by their superior officers. It was thanks to this that Keith had managed to find his place on the force.

By the time Shiro arrived, Keith was getting impatient—he wanted to talk to this witness. Shiro parked his car next to his and hopped out, looking a bit flustered.

“Did you—Oh, my God, did you go home to  _ change _ ?” Keith asked, taking in his brother’s shirt.

Shiro chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with his prosthetic hand. “I dropped some coffee on me. It wouldn’t be professional to show up dirty.”

Keith scowled. “Really? Is that what happened? I think what happened is that this is Adam’s workplace and you want to look good in case we see him.”

“Keith!” Shiro whined, face colouring. “Y-you’re wrong!”

“Ugh, whatever. Let’s go.”

They made their way inside the busy hospital. The smells of industrial cleaner and semi-clean linens assaulted Keith’s nose the second he stepped into the hall. St. Bartholomew stood in the poorest neighbourhood of the city and it showed. The floors were pockmarked. The walls painted a sickly green represented the fashion of three decades ago. The grubby windows needed a good scrub. The elevators worked intermittently. The furniture had seen better days. Every month the hospital held fundraisers in the hopes of amassing money to buy better equipment. Keith had lost count of the times he’d attended since the police station and the hospital worked conjointly.

The receptionist at the front desk told them that the man they were looking for was being held in ICU. Keith felt Shiro straighten up at this—of  _ course _ their witness would be under Adam’s stern care. They took the stairs to the third floor. All this time, Shiro kept running a hand through his hair, smoothing it back.

“Stop that,” Keith grumbled. “You’re handsome enough.”

“What if Adam doesn’t think so?”

“Then he needs a new pair of glasses.”

The third floor was as messy as the front lobby. Nurses rushed about, clipboards under one arm, trays held aloft like waiters delivering pills and medication. The corridors were lined with gurneys and other kind of medical equipment that couldn’t be stored anywhere else. Here, too, the walls were a disgusting dark green. The floor underfoot was sticky. Opened doors led to patients’ rooms. A few doctors in lab-coats walked by, sounding way too cheerful for the depressing atmosphere. The chemical smells of cleaner stuck to the back of Keith’s throat, making him want to cough.

And here he used to think the overpopulated station smelled bad.

They stopped at the nurse’s station of this floor to inquire about the witness. Immediately, one of the nurses called the doctor in charge of the patient who, of course, had to be Shiro’s long-time crush, Adam Wagner.

Adam didn’t look very pleased to see them here. As always, he was immaculately groomed and dressed, looking smart in his white lab coat. There wasn’t a hair out of place on his head. Only the light shadows circling his eyes indicated that he’d been called in the middle of the night to patch up an idiot who’d gotten on the wrong side of a blade.

“Takashi, Keith,” he greeted, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re here to bother my patient?”

Adam was a great doctor because he was so damn protective of his patients. To him, it didn’t matter that the one he’d been keeping alive since early morning might be a criminal. He was a human being and therefore deserved to be saved. Keith had always admired this of him. Adam had had his fair share of crooks under his ministrations and not once had he shied at fixing them. Most of the time, he didn’t even want to know what they’d done wrong or what would happen to them once they left the hospital.

Shiro cleared his throat. Twice. Only a squeaky sound came out of his mouth when he tried speaking. Keith rolled his eyes—ugh, that idiot had been crushing on Adam for years. He’d never had the courage to speak up, never even had the courage to ask Adam out on a date. They’d been friends since middle school, apparently, and Shiro had had a crush on his boyhood friend ever since. Adam had to suspect, had to know, but he was a damnable proud man. He’d once told Keith that if Shiro wanted to ask him out, he’d have to do it. Adam wouldn’t take the first step for him.

It meant that these two morons had been dancing around each other for years, wasting all this time being either too prideful or too shy to make a move. Keith had tried pushing them towards each other to no avail.

“Yes,” Keith said, stepping in. “We want to know if he’s related to another victim.”

Adam gestured at them to follow him down the corridor. “Mr. Mitchell is still weak. He’s lost a lot of blood. You have five minutes with him. Unless he’s accused of something, it’s unlawful for you to question him.”

“Thanks, you’re always so helpful,” Keith grumbled sarcastically.

Mr. Mitchell’s room was at the end of the corridor. If the guy had been a suspect, there would be two policemen assigned to guard him. For the moment however, since he wasn’t formally linked to any crime, he was being treated like any other common patient of the hospital.

He was a big man in his late forties with thinning dark hair, stubble on chubby cheeks, and the frame of a brawler. He was hooked to tubes and machines that beeped relentlessly. Thick bandages covered what little could be seen of his skin.

There was also another man with him standing by his bedside. This one was younger, clearly about Keith’s age. He looked up sharply the second the two policemen stepped into the room. Keith noticed the tiny changes in his expression only because he’d been staring at him: his eyes widened fractionally while his jaw tightened. He took a step back from the bed, smiling.

Though his startled behaviour was weird, Keith ignored him to turn his attention to the man lying on the bed. He was clearly conscious.

“Mr. Mitchell? I’m Detective Keith Kogane of the Plaht City Police Department.” He unhooked his badge from his belt to show it to him. He then gestured to Shiro. “This is my partner Takashi Shirogane. We have a few questions regarding what happened to you.” He glanced at the other man standing beside the bed. “Are you next of kin?”

“No,” Adam said, walking in. “It’s James. He’s with me. James, come on.”

The guy, James, threw one last look at the man in the bed before leaving. Keith paid him no mind; he was probably an intern or a nurse.

Mr. Mitchell stirred himself a little from his torpor. His eyes grew huge. His whole body tensed. He jerked, nearly managing to sit upright. The brisk movement tugged a tube free from his arm. A small trickle of blood slid down his forearm, staining the bandages there. One machine started being madly. The tremors kept going, alarms beeping everywhere.

Adam rushed in the room, barking at them to step out. Keith stared, aghast, as their victim started thrashing violently in the bed. The blankets flew off his body to expose his limbs covered in thick bandages. Someone grabbed Keith’s shoulder and bodily dragged him away to leave room for the medical personnel to work.

“What’s happening?” he asked stupidly.

“I don’t know,” Shiro answered, sounding worried.

The guy who’d been with the victim, James, stood there, arms crossed over his chest and looking totally unperturbed by what was happening.

Keith went to him. “Hey. Are you a doctor? Can you tell me what’s happening?”

“Me?” A smile. “Oh, I’m not a doctor. I don’t work here. I’m friends with Adam. He didn’t have time to pack a lunch so I brought one to him. If I had to hazard a guess, though, I’d say this poor man is having a seizure, probably brought on by all the blood transfusions he needed.”

Keith filed away the part about him having brought Adam a lunch. “What makes you say that?”

James shrugged. “It happens. Maybe he was allergic to something in the donor’s blood?”

This didn’t sound like the kind of information just anyone would know. Keith didn’t comment though, turning his attention to what was happening inside the room. Adam and two nurses were trying to hold the seizing patient down while a third nurse had a syringe ready. The thrashing around had reopened stitched wounds that bled sluggishly, slowly staining the hospital gown as well as the bedsheets in red. One flailing hand nearly caught Adam in the face.

Like watching a train wreck, Keith couldn’t look away. This seemed to go on forever, though it couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes. Slowly, the victim’s movements began sluggish. His limbs fell loose on the blood-soaked mattress. The wild beeping of the machines slowed down. Adam barked something in alarm. On one monitor, the green line that had been going in crazy ups and downs flattened. Remained flat despite Adam’s curses, despite the nurses’ efforts.

Keith had seen death before. He saw dozen of corpses every week. One’s skin hardened after a while.  You learned to compartmentalize. If you didn’t, the job killed you. It was hard. Keith retreated to that place in his head that made this look far away, of little consequence. Later, he’d analyze what this meant. For the moment, his feelings had to be sealed away to be protected.

He saw everything much clearer now: the red, red blood against the light blue linens of the hospital; the dark stains on the tiled floor; the chipped paint on the walls, that yellow tape wrapped around the EKG machine to hold it together; the starchiness of Adam’s white lab coat. Turning, he spotted James standing nearby, gazing at the scene with an impassiveness that was impressive. His purple eyes were opaque, uncaring. One forelock of brown hair fell over his forehead in a carefree manner, making him look effortlessly charming. Keith certainly wouldn’t have noticed this if he hadn’t been so hyper-fixated on everything.

Finally, Shiro touched his shoulder. It brought him back to reality with a jolt. He realised that, on the bed, the sheet had been tugged over their victim’s face. He was dead.

“What happened?” Keith asked once Adam rejoined him.

Adam, lips pinched, scoffed. “What do you think, Sherlock? He died.”

“I know. How did he die? What was that?”

Adam crossed his arms over his chest, looking peeved. “If you give me two minutes to examine the body, I’ll tell you. I can’t just guess at it. These things happen sometimes. Nothing points to foul play yet. If it does, you’ll be the first one informed.”

The poor man looked to be in pain. Keith understood. He softened a little; Adam was someone he’d grown to respect over the years. He wasn’t sure they could be called friends, but they were on good terms.

“All right. Let us know as soon as possible.”

Adam nodded. His eyes flickered to Shiro before he turned on his heels to return to the room inside which the dead man was being unhooked from the machines. Keith observed the scene for a moment before sighing. It had all been a waste of his time. They hadn’t learned anything new.

-

Back at the station, he sat at his desk, pondering the morning’s events. His computer’s screen remained dark and case files remained unopened in front of him. Pidge had yet to send him her early finds on the crime scenes. He’d spotted her hunched over her microscope in her lab and he’d known better than to bother her—she’d find him easily enough when she needed him. In the meantime, all he could do was go over what they already knew of the victim. Someone from the communication’s department had phoned the victim’s workplace to get information on him, on his schedule, on his life, on his work visa. They would then try communicating with his family in Canada, if he had any. They needed to know whether he had enemies or people who hated him enough to consider murder.

Keith had a few theories lined up already, most of which went against what the rest of the people involved believed. First of all, he knew that this guy hadn’t been murdered by the vigilante. Pidge’s findings confirmed that the death had been sloppy, nothing like the vigilante’s usually tidy kills. Despite this, there were murmurs around the station that the vigilante had struck again. That masked guy had become so popular lately that anyone dying a remotely suspicious death was linked to him. Keith hated jumping to conclusions. It muddled the thought process. Everybody involved needed to keep an open mind.

Who had killed this Canadian, however? Was it a copycat? Was the death totally unrelated to the vigilante? Death by knife wounds or by blood loss weren’t that rare. The victims had usually been stabbed however, not slashed to death. Stab wounds indicated a crime of passion done in the heat of an argument. If this had been done by an amateur, there would have been something left behind at the crime scene. A first-time killer was never this tidy. Keith suspected that the mob had something to do with it.

The mob had been getting pretty active over the last year or so. Violent crimes related to them were on the rise. Keith lost count of how many gambling dens, illegal prostitution houses, human trafficking rings, and drug operations the PCPD had busted over the past twelve months. Lance and the other policemen had been run off their feet with all that work. It was all the more frustrating that mobsters had great lawyers that always got them off. Unless the police had iron-clad proof, the damn lawyers found every tiny loophole to slip through. Once, a mobster had gotten away with literal murder because there had been a mistake in the filing system. That day Keith had nearly wept in frustration.

He looked at his workplace, looked at his coworkers going on about their business. They were too few to deal with the disease plaguing their city. They were like a surgeon trying to stop too many bleedings at the same time. He could hardly recognize the city he’d grown up in. Plaht City was never New York City or Las Vegas, but it used to be thriving. The decay of the past ten years had slowly chipped away any of its greatness. Anyone who could leave had done so. Their port that used to bustle with cargo ships from sunup to sundown had the appearance of a ghost town, the only ships coming in now belonging to the mob. Corrupt officials made it impossible to trace them to any illegal imports. The streets had become dangerous; gangs tried to find themselves some turf while simultaneously fighting amongst themselves or teaming up on the mob.

It seemed like Plaht City would never be safe again. Keith looked at his shabby desk, the shabby furniture, the shabby uniform of his coworkers, and despaired. They hardly had the means of a big city to fight against big city corruption. They were all underpaid; Keith’s salary was still that of an officer rather than of a detective. Shiro had been denied a promotion twice because there was no money for it. Hell, even their chief, Iverson, did clerical work once in a while because they couldn’t afford to hire more secretaries.

And now that vigilante was added to the mix. The mere thought of him made Keith grit his teeth in dislike. Some bguy dressed in a stupid superhero costume had decided that the high crime rate gave him the right to commit murder. Because what he did was murder; it hardly mattered that those who fell to his sword were criminals. Everybody had a right to a lawful arrest and to stand in front of judge. That vigilante was taking away his victims’ rights to be judged. Keith couldn’t stand that. It was even worse how some of his fellow police officers admired the guy. Oh, they praised him in hushed tones, behind closed doors, but Keith had heard them, had seen the light in their eyes whenever a crime was linked to him. They thought he was doing the city a  _ service _ .

Keith perhaps could have approved if the guy had arrested his victims rather than downright killed them. If he was so sure they were guilty, why not bring them to the station with proof? Why  _ kill _ them? Because it was easier? Or because he doubted his own motives?

This was the first thing Keith would ask him once he got his hand on him.

Because he would. On his oath to serve and protect, he would.


	2. Vigilante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the night falls, the vigilante strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voltron (c) Netflix + Dreamworks

“What the hell was that?”

James looked up from the file he’d been perusing to see Adam standing in the doorframe, eyes dark with anger. He didn’t say anything while the older man walked into his office and closed the door behind him to make sure they weren’t overheard.

James put the file back on the desk before sitting down on one of the guest chairs. Adam sat behind his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, jaw set. He had that look on his face that meant he wouldn’t budge until he had an answer.

The thing was, Adam knew what had happened to that patient—they’d discussed it beforehand. He simply always had second thoughts after the deed was done. James knew he’d spend the night tossing and turning, anguished, wondering if he’d done the right thing.

James gentled his voice. “You know he had to die, Adam. You know what this man has done. He was one of the recruiters for the sex trafficking ring that dealt with  _ children _ . He was on my target list, but the mob got to him first.”

Adam pursed his lips. He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “I know all that. It just sucks that it had to happen in my hospital, under my nose. You switched the transfusion blood?”

“Yes, and I made sure to sign Nurse Cardiff’s name on the authorisation papers. She’ll take the fall for it. Once she’s in jail, she won’t be able to hurt another patient.”

This was so difficult for Adam. James’ heart went out to him. Adam understood the necessity of what James was doing, but it rankled. It went against everything he believed in. It went against his physician oath to do no harm. Despite this, his logical side always overtook. He saw the city’s decay, saw how the cops were fighting a losing battle. He was a doctor, every night he patched up his fair share of hapless folks who’d been caught in the crosshair of the mob. Hell, he was friends with policemen who complained ceaselessly about how understaffed they were.

Understanding didn’t make it easier to bear, however. James hated having to put his friend through this, hated that the lines of strain around Adam’s brown eyes were caused, in part, by him. This was their burden, though, this was the price to pay to make Plaht City a better, safer place to live. They lost sleep over it, they bled and they hurt, but they knew that every lost hour of rest meant someone got to make it home safely.

“Good,” Adam grumbled. “I’ve been trying to get her fired for months. She’s not only incompetent, she’s dangerous to the patients.”

Oh, James knew. Helen Cardiff was a night nurse with a twisted sense of justice. She was always brutal with the patients, going as far as slapping them when she knew she could get away with it. James had sneaked into her house once and had found proof that she was very conscious of what she did. In a very Annie Wilkes-fashion, she had made it her duty to  _ care _ for the dying or weak patients by putting an end to their suffering. Her MO was a too-high dose of painkillers, something that was difficult to trace or to prove. The hospital being understaffed, it had been impossible to get her fired for mistreatment alone. Adam had tried, other doctors too, without success. The deliberate switching of blood type that lead to the death of a patient was far easier to trace, especially since James had been extra careful to leave a paper trail as evidence. He’d forged her signature on half a dozen documents that would link her to Mr. Mitchell’s untimely death.

James had killed two birds with one stone, nearly literally. He hadn’t told about the truth of the nurse, that she didn’t only mistreat patients, that she also killed a lot of them. He couldn’t bear it. He’d surely blame himself for not noticing this sooner.

“Son you have nothing with the murders that happened last night?” Adam asked, putting his glasses back on to level a stern look a James.

“No. Mitchell was high on my list; I was planning a hit on him later this week. As for the man he was with, I don’t know him. I don’t know who got to Mitchell either.” He scoffed. “Someone clearly trying to imitate my work and pin this on me.”

And it annoyed him. Part of him was appalled at being angry that a second-rate butcher would try copying him, like what he was doing was  _ art _ . On the other hand, he was never this sloppy. He didn’t torture his victims, didn’t toy with them—which was clearly what had happened with Mitchell. The cuts on his body had been shallow for the most part. They had been intended to cause pain rather than outright kill. If Mitchell hadn’t gotten to the hospital this quickly, he’d have died of blood loss on the street. No big loss there; whoever had killed him had done humanity a great service. James just hated that the kill would be laid at his feet.

“It can work in your favour,” Adam said with a shrug. “Having a copycat might muddle things up enough that you won’t be caught.”

“I doubt the police are actively trying to arrest me. I’m pretty sure they’d thank me for my work.”

“Don’t be too sure of that, boy. Some policemen have principles. Takashi and Keith won’t thank you. They’ll throw you in jail the second they can get their hands on you.”

Yes, James had heard of them. Takashi Shirogane and his younger brother Keith Kogane were the pride of the PCPD. Best students at the police academy, best cadets, best recruits, best officers, and now best detectives. James made sure to keep an eye on everything that happened at the police station. Keeping abreast was the only way he would manage to escape capture. He had to keep one step ahead of everyone by keeping suspicions away from him at all times. To make this possible, he’d long ago hacked into the station’s network, a feat made possible thanks to his hacker friend Ina. She didn’t know the reason why, he’d simply challenged her and Ina never backed down from a challenge.

He’d kept track of the comings and goings of the policemen. He had information on each and every one of them. He knew which to avoid, which could be bribed and the best way to bribe them, knew who worked on what case. Shirogane’s and Kogane’s names kept popping up. Whenever they bent their intellect on solving a crime, the crooks trembled. They had the highest arrest rates of the force. Despite this, they were only two men ran off their feet. With the crime rates going up, they’d often been forced to drop a case to work on a more pressing one.

So far, James had no reason to suspect they were going after the vigilante. They had profiled him based on what little had been found on his crime scenes. All they had was conjecture, questions, and a profile that didn’t fit the face James Griffin showed the world. The only accurate thing they’d figured out about him was his height; six foot, which was nothing out of the ordinary.

The problem he foresaw with this was that he had very little to apply pressure on either detective. They were both squeaky clean; especially Shirogane. Kogane had had a wild phase in high school; smoking and drinking with a bit of drugs on the side. He’d cleaned his act before getting admitted into the academy. Since then, just like his older brother, he’d been boring: married at twenty-one to follow policeman Lance Álvarez, became the father of an adopted daughter named Alicia Álvarez-Kogane at twenty-three, divorced at twenty-five, celibate since then. He even went back to live with Shirogane, the two brothers now sharing a small townhouse a five-minute walk from the station. As for Shirogane, he’d been the model boy since birth apparently. Top student, beloved by everybody, never did anything reckless even in high school, never married, never left a string of broken hearts behind him. The only thing James truly knew of him was that he had been pining after Adam ever since they met in middle school.

The only pressure he could apply on either of these two was to go after Kogane’s daughter or Shirogane’s love interest, something James hoped he’d never have to do.

“Well, I guess the best thing to do is make sure they never get their hands on me,” James said with a small smile.

Adam didn’t like this; it showed in the bloodless line of his mouth. He was torn between all of them; he loved James like a little brother as he did Kogane, and he loved Shirogane. He knew James could end up having to hurt them to save his own skin and, to this day, he still didn’t know which way he’d lean. At the end of the day, if James got arrested, there was the possibility that he’d be linked back to Adam. It would become known that Adam had been the vigilante’s doctor, the one patching him up after bad nights. It would mean that Adam had known all along who was murdering those crooks and had never said so to anyone, not even to his policemen friends.

Whatever happened, Adam stood to lose. James couldn’t forget that.

-

James lived in the small, four-room apartment on the first floor of Adam’s townhouse. It was a nice, airy place that he’d been renting quite cheaply. On his day job’s salary as a gym teacher at Plaht First District High School, it was all he could afford. He wouldn’t move for the world; living here meant Adam was nearby to fix him when the night’s events turned sour. Furthermore, he’d turned his apartment into a veritable den of hidey-holes and crannies where he could conceal every piece of his equipment. No matter what happened, if only one katana or sword or knife was discovered, it would be a life sentence for him.

He had work to do that night so, as soon as the sun had set enough to plunge the city into darkness, he put aside James Griffin to become his darker half. He pulled the locked chest from under the trapdoor in his bedroom’s closet. The heavy piece of furniture was made of dark wood singed on one side. It was one of the only things he’d managed to salvage from the fire that had ravaged his childhood. He’d kept it close throughout his life, choosing to entrust his darkest secret inside it.

Unlocking the padlock, he opened the trunk. Inside was the costume he wore on his nights out. Sewn of dark red leather, the Kevlar used to reinforce it made him nearly impervious to bullets or any sort of blades. A direct hit would leave a mark, of course, but it was much better than the plain cotton trousers and shirt he’d worn when he’d first started. This costume was his identity and his shame. He pulled it out, feeling the familiar fabric between his calloused fingers. No matter how often he scrubbed it, the smell of old blood never quite faded away. It reached his nose, reminding him of his true purpose.

He quickly donned it, used by now to the straps and belts to keep it all fastened. As he did so, he felt his conscious mind recede a little, leaving him clear-headed. He kept the mask for last—this was the part he hated the most. The fabric it was made of was breathable, cool, yet he always felt like he was suffocating when he put it on. The eyeholes, covered by night-vision lenses, seemed to restrain his field of vision. He wished he could forgo it, but knew it would be foolish.

His weaponry was hidden a bit everywhere throughout the flat. He kept one knife always within reach under his pillow. The rest, he’d strewn everywhere to make them more difficult to find. He picked them up carefully one after the other, sliding them easily into their sheaths: boot, thigh, belt. Then, last but not least, the only piece of equipment he left exposed: his katana. It rested on a stand on the chimney’s mantelpiece like the prized centrepiece of an exposition. And it was prized, the only memento he had of his father. It had been passed down from generation to generation of Griffin men and women. Few before James had actually used it in the manner he did, yet there had been other bold souls in his family ready to unsheathe their weapon for the greater good. Now, it was his turn.

For a moment, he stood there holding this relic in his gloved hands. He’d turned on only one small lamp beside the couch so his eyes could grow accustomed to half-darkness. The yellow tinge of the cheap lightbulb reflected off the polished steel of the blade. Its surface like a mirror sent him back his reflection: a man in his late twenties with purple eyes, brown hair, and the stone face of a killer. He wondered if his coworkers would recognize him right now. He hardly recognized himself sometimes, especially the seconds after which he’d removed his mask. He’d stare at himself in the mirror and wonder who that man was, wonder why there were so many dark shadows in his eyes.

He slid the katana home in its sheath strapped to his back. No more excuse to tarry. With a deep breath, he put the mask on and left.

There was a small door that lead outside situated at the back of the kitchen. To the unwary eyes, it seemed to lead into a simple pantry. And it did, after a fashion. Turning a switch swung the false wall open, revealing a narrow rectangle of the back lawn. James slipped through with practiced ease, pulling everything shut behind him. From the side, the door appeared to be simply a few wood planks leaning against the wall. Surrounding it was a tall hedge providing much-needed cover from the prying eyes of the neighbours. In daylight, James spent a ridiculous amount of time tending to this patch of grass, making sure it grew thick and springing so as to hide how often it got trudged upon.

From there, it was simply a matter of hopping over the tall fence that circled the yard. Glancing up, he saw that Adam’s bedroom window shone bright—he hoped his friend got a good night’s rest. He’d learned to sleep through James’ nightly excursions, which hadn’t been the case at first. Now, he knew James would seek him out should the need arise upon his return.

His destination tonight was a small bar behind which had been built an illegal gambling den. He’d heard through his sources that a mobster overlooking the shipments of drugs often visited. It was the man’s boss James wanted. The boss had been eluding him for weeks, hiding in the shadows behind false names, burner phones, and dead ends. James had been going after his lieutenants for a while without much success. If tonight yielded no result, it would be time to attack this problem from a new angle.

For the moment however he focused on the task at end. The streets of this neighbourhood were very quiet at this time of night. Being a residential block, most people went to bed quite early, which left him free to wander without much risk of being spotted. Still, he kept to the shadows, creeping from one pool of darkness to the next. He knew this place like the back of his hand so he’d learned where to step, where to hide, which spots provided the best cover.

In half an hour he’d left the family-friendly streets for the more dilapidated alleyways of the shipping district. Most illegal activities took place nearest the port where the poorer quarters were. It was a part of the town that James had grown familiar with too. Over the years he’d been doing this, he’d come to know which buildings he could hide into if things turned sour, which backstreets were dead ends, and from where the police were most likely to come from. He’d learned, without much choice, how to make a hasty retreat and which shortcuts brought him home fastest.

He paused beside an abandoned tavern to survey his surroundings. The bar on the other side of the street, his destination, thrived. Loud music and laughter could be heard even with the front door closed. It was a place young people liked, especially those seeking a thrill. He’d scouted the place a few days ago, mingling easily with a crowd a decade younger than him. The loud music bleeding into the street provided the perfect cover; nobody in the vicinity would hear the sound of fighting.

He spotted four cars, looking utterly out of place with their gleaming paint and shiny hubcaps. Inside each was a driver. A few men and women in conspicuously expensive suits roamed the sidewalks, giving anybody coming too close the stink eye. Bodyguards most like. He recognised one of them as an employee of the man he was here to interrogate. It meant he hadn’t made the trip for no reason.

He crossed the street further away and made his way towards the bar via the back alleys. The smells of sewage and full garbage cans wafted from every side, making his eyes water from beneath his mask. He stepped carefully, trying to avoid waste that would leave traces in his wake. Quickly, moving from shadow to shadow, he found himself at the back of the bar. Loud music drummed through the walls. A few doors opened on the streets, all of them closed tightly. There was also an overflowing trash-can around which cigarette butts littered the ground. He peered at those, a smile slowly stretching his lips. An expensive, foreign brand, certainly the kind no young partygoer could afford. It meant the people partaking into the gambling came here to smoke between games. James didn’t know whether his target smoked, but it didn’t matter.

He leaned against the wall between two closed doors and settled to wait. Waiting had become part of his life. James never, ever jumped into a fight first. He always studied his targets’ habits, their life, their deeds. He observed them, trailing them, shadowing them, mapping their every hour to know when to strike. He could sit for hours in his rented car in front of a house, observing, taking notes or pictures. He didn’t hit unless he was absolutely certain of himself. He had to have evidence that whoever he intended to kill was indeed guilty.

One hour passed. The music thrummed around him, one seemingly incessant beat that reverberated inside his chest. He remembered being young and wanting to be part of that crowd that lost itself in alcohol and dancing. Even then it hadn’t been him. James had never been able to truly let go. He couldn’t remember ever being drunk, only tipsy. His partners had found this disconcerting, leaving after only a few months because they always thought they weren’t enough for him. Truth was letting them too close endangered him. He’d kept them at arm’s length, unable to let them in.

It was for the best, though. No emotional connection meant no weakness, no physical closeness meant no risk of being discovered. A quick fuck once in a while with a stranger was enough to keep his body happy. He’d long ago learned to discipline himself, anyway.

He closed his eyes, letting his other senses take over. The stench of the alleyway assaulted his nostrils. The rough brick of the wall pressed into his back. The loud music deafened—no. He perked up. No, those were definitely footsteps coming closer.

The door to his left opened, shielding him from view. A man stepped out, reeking of expensive alcohol. He went to the trash-can, lighting up a cigarette. The tiny flame brought forth by his lighter illuminated his features long enough to tell James this wasn’t who he’d come to kill.

Nonetheless, he crept closer after making sure nobody had followed. His footsteps made no sound on the dirty asphalt. Silently, moving slowly, he unsheathed the knife at his belt. With one swift movement, he grabbed the man around the head with his free arm and held the knife to the man’s throat. The reaction was instantaneous: the guy dropped his cigarette, body tensing, air whooshing out of his lungs in a gasp that James muffled easily.

“Be quiet,” he murmured. “It’s not you I’m after. Is there a man named Rall in your midst?”

A shudder shook the man’s whole body. A piteous squeak left his throat. James waited, knowing it usually took a few tries before a person managed to talk after being grabbed this way. He kept his ear cocked to the sounds coming from the bar, not wanting to be taken unawares.

“Y-y-yes,” the man finally answered in a thin whisper.

“Thank you.”

James grabbed him in a choke hold and squeezed until the man fainted for lack of air. He laid his body down gently on the dirty asphalt, rearranging the limbs to make it look like he’d simply fainted.

After one last look around, he slipped through the open door and closed it behind him. The pulsing music thrummed in his chest as he silently made his way down the corridor. On each side were closed doors that most likely lead to utility closets. The light was poor here, the hallway illuminated only by two flickering naked lightbulbs. This was good; people relied way too much on their ears while James had learned long ago how to use the rest of his senses. He could fight in pitch darkness as easily as in full daylight, night-vision lenses or not.

He paused by the opened door, listening. From inside the room came the easy chatter of three men and one woman at their ease. They chuckled and bantered. Ice chinked in glasses. Chairs squeaked. Feet shuffled on an old linoleum floor. Cards were shuffled. Chips clicked when deposited on the table. Laughter.

James counted four seated persons and at least three others standing guard. He didn’t know which one of them was his mark however, but, judging by the man’s habits, he’d be the one seated furthest from the door. Rall was a man who lived dangerously and who knew to keep a wall behind him to guard his back.

Slowly, so as to avoid making a sound, he unsheathed his katana in one smooth motion. The world receded as adrenaline pumped through his body.

Ready, he stepped into the room calmly, unhurriedly. Had there been space left in him for humour, this part would have been his favourite. People looking up in confusion from what they’d been doing, eyes widening at the sight of him, mouth dropping open, hands going lax in fright. That split second of paralyzing terror was always the best to strike. It gave him the edge he needed when faced with unfair odds. Tonight though, he didn’t really need it. Three bodyguards was a piece of cake for him.

He shifted his grip on the hilt of his katana, turning it to the blunted side: only one man had to die tonight.

The first bodyguard recovered too late; James was already lashing out at him, slamming his fist under his chin. The man’s head snapped back and he fell backwards in a spray of loosened teeth. The second was reaching for his gun when James got to him. He grabbed the woman’s wrist, twisting it behind her back savagely enough that he heard bones snap. He shoved her face first into the nearest wall, the blow to her skull powerful enough to make her lose consciousness. She crumpled to the ground.

The third bodyguard was quick enough to draw his gun out and fire. The bullet missed James by a foot, hitting the wall above his head. James was on him in the blink of an eye, slamming his elbow into the man’s sternum before he had time to pull the trigger. Air whooshed out of his lungs as his eyes went huge. He fell to his knees, dropping his weapon that James kicked out of reach.

This had taken no more than ten seconds. He turned towards the gamblers who’d remained seated, eyes bulging in terror. There was a gun on the table, a gaudy, ancient thing probably worth a lot of money that none of them thought to grab in self-defence. James knew the four of them, knew them to be crooks either already on his list or on their way there. He smiled under his mask; he hadn’t expected it. Two were from rival clans, and the woman had so far dealt mostly in legal stuff, though he had seen her penchant for young girls imported from overseas.

He turned his katana to the whetted side slowly, making sure they saw and understood what this meant. One man got to his feet quickly, his chair skidding back.

“W-w-wait!” he pleaded, hand reaching out in supplication. “I-I have money! I’ll pay you off!”

How often he’d heard this. If James had taken every one of those cowards on their offer, he’d be rich by now. It angered him that these bastards thought he could just be bought off easily, that money would erase the blood trail left behind them. He’d come to understand that most of them didn’t even realise what they were doing was causing harm. All they saw was the profit at the end of the chain.

It made it easier to kill them. His katana found its way into the man’s pleading throat, effectively cutting short his whining. The wound was neat, only a thin line of blood remaining when the blade drew back. Not sloppy, not like that copycat.

The other kills happened in the same way. James slid his katana between the ribs of a man’s retreating back, nicking the heart. He grabbed the woman’s hair as she fell to her knees pleading, tilting her chin up to expose her throat that he slit neatly. The blood spurted away from him, not one drop falling on him.

In less than five minutes, four bodies littered the floor while the three wounded bodyguards watched on, aghast. They all flinched as one when he glanced at them, certain that they would be next. Part of James actually wanted to kill them; they were privy to their boss’ dealings. Although they might not participate actively in their illegal activities, they facilitated them or enabled them one way or the other. James didn’t go after hired help, however. They were just thugs paid to keep their mouth shut. Should they rise amongst the ranks, should they bring themselves to his attention,  _ then _ he would end them mercilessly.

He spared the four dead bastards one last glance before turning on his heels. He wiped the blood off his blade on a black rag he kept tucked in his belt. Once it was cleaned, he slid it back into its scabbard. The rag he’d burn later. As he made his way out, he looked around, making certain he’d left nothing behind that could identify him. Even when he had to make a hasty retreat he did his best to peruse his killing ground. One careless footprint, one drop of blood, one lost hair, it could ruin him. He’d become a master at it, looking around while running, while hiding, even while killing. He’d been lucky so far; he was humble enough to know that, one day, he’d slip. One day something would slide past his notice and it would be the end of him.

Not tonight, though.

Satisfied that nothing of his was left behind, he hurried home through the darkened back alleys. What happened next didn’t depend on him. Some bodyguards took their dead boss while others preferred to leave them where they had fallen. Soon enough the bar’s owner would either find the bodies and call the police, or find the blood soaking onto the floor of his backroom and clean it up. Nowadays, a lot of people mistrusted the police enough that they preferred to avoid having dealings with them.

James didn’t relax, didn’t lower his guard, until he was safe in his own apartment. He barred the door and stood there for a moment. Suddenly suffocating, he tore off his mask to breathe more easily. His limbs shook while the adrenaline slowly drained from his veins. Slowly, feeling like a man thrice his age, he peeled off his costume. With each knife he put aside, with each buckle he undid, he became his urbane self again. He went from the vigilante to James Griffin in a matter of minutes. Standing there in his underwear, he contemplated his costume, looking at it from every angle. There wasn’t a drop of blood anywhere.

Afterward, he cleaned his boots, scrubbing the soles vigorously to be sure none of the muck he’d trailed through made his way into the house. Cleaning up after himself usually look much longer than the actual killing. Still, it was necessary. Nobody could ever, ever suspect that he led a double life. Everything had to be spotless, and it was a small mercy that he was such a perfectionist. He mopped the floor twice and, tomorrow, he’d inspect the back lawn to be sure everything was in place.

It was nearing two in the morning by the time he was satisfied with his work. Tired, aching, he showered before dragging himself to bed where, for some reason, he dreamed about a pair of big blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justice is risky business.


	3. Gumshoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The vigilante strikes and Keith and Shiro have to head to the scene to find out what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voltron (c) Netflix + Dreamworks

Keith couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, the sheets tangling around his legs. One moment he was too cold while the next he was too hot. He considered opening the window, changed his mind. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling with mounting annoyance. Shapes were moving there, dancing to the rhythm of the wind shivering in the branches of the tree that overlooked this side of the house. He watched them for a moment, hoping their lazy patterns would lull him to sleep. No such luck.

He considered getting up, but it had to be nearing four in the morning. Shiro would scold if he got up too early, not minding the fact that he too was usually up before the sun appeared over the horizon. Time and again they’d both left their beds of a common accord to sit on the couch and watch some dumb night TV show. Sharing the same job, sharing the same cases, meant sharing the same troubles. Keith had grown to love those quiet moments spent with his big brother. They reminded him of their youth, how Shiro had always been near and ready to help despite their seven-year gap in age.

He turned again, burying his face into his pillow. It wasn’t even the case that kept him awake; he was simply jittery, like he knew something was about to happen somewhere. Was that damn vigilante out there killing people again, or was the bastard sleeping soundly in his own bed, certain that he was doing the world a service?

Nope, better not start thinking about that because he’d get angry and that wouldn’t help with his sleep. He chose to count sheep instead. He’d taught his daughter that trick though, at five, she couldn’t count much further than twenty. He pictured her in her small, narrow bed, face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to remember her numbers to count. By now it had almost become a ritual: he would sit beside her after putting her to bed, counting with her, helping her through the difficult pronunciation. She’d learned her numbers in Spanish too thanks to Lance, and sometimes she insisted they count in that language, giggling at how bad Keith was speaking his ex-husband’s mother tongue.

He smiled slightly, hoping that Alicia was having a good rest. He had no doubt that she was safely tucked away, safe with Lance nearby.

After another half-hour of rolling about, he sat up with an exasperated groan. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. Maybe he shouldn’t have—

His cell-phone chimed. Like a drowning man throwing himself at a lifeline, he grabbed for it. The backlight nearly blinded him. Through his watering eyes, he saw he’d gotten a text from the station telling him there’d been a murder.

He wondered if it was pathetic how eagerly he got up to get dressed. From across the hall, he heard Shiro rummage around—his brother had probably received the exact same text. It was half past four and he was happy to be up, happy to be called on the scene of a crime. There had to be something wrong with him. He suspected this was one of the many reasons why his past relationships had all failed spectacularly; very few people would accept that their partner receive calls in the middle of the night and just leave without a word of explanation. He’d thought that things would be different with Lance since he was a policeman too, but the problems had been different. With Alicia in the picture, storming off to a crime scene in the middle of the night had no longer been possible. There had been angry words exchanged at that, insults, neither of them willing to relent an inch, none of them willing to abandon their career. Divorce had been easier.

He met with Shiro downstairs. Shiro also had the look of a man who hadn’t slept much, his eyes red-rimmed and his skin pale. He nevertheless had a smile for his little brother, a quick pat on the head that used to drive Keith to distraction.

They took Shiro’s car to make their way to the crime scene, which was a bar near the docks. If Keith had to hazard a guess, he’d say that half the violent crimes in Plaht City took place within those four blocks surrounding the waterside. He was beginning to know this neighbourhood like the back of his hand.

All around him, the city was slowly donning its morning colours. A thin reddish line appeared on the horizon. The deep pools of shadows thrown by the buildings paled. The sky lightened, going from black to dark blue. There was a cluster of clouds in the distance that promised rain, the cold, autumn kind that froze the marrow. The last stars were slowly winking out of existence.

It was utterly peaceful. Keith sank in his seat, head resting against the door window. His jittery nerves calmed. The slight sway of the car, the quiet hum of the engine, they all served to make him sleepy.

“When we adopted you,” Shiro began in a soft voice, “it was written in your file that the best way to get you to sleep was to take you for a car ride. Apparently, it’s still the case.”

Keith had to offer a small smile at this. “Yeah, I heard I was a fretful baby.”

He didn’t remember, of course, but he’d heard enough to know about it. Tsuyoshi and Ayako Shirogane had adopted him when he’d been only six months old after his own father, a fireman, had been killed in an accident. Keith had no memory whatsoever of his family and only a few old photographs to remember his father by. His mother hadn’t been present apparently because there was nothing on her, and even her name had been redacted from his birth certificate. Shiro and his parents were his family now, and he was more than okay with it.

“Yeah, you were,” Shiro agreed with a smile in his voice. “You cried the second we put you down. I could spend hours with you in my arms because otherwise you’d be bawling.”

“Such a great big bro,” Keith teased. He added: “You’re going to be a great dad once you finally marry Adam and adopt the ten children you’ve been dreaming of.”

The reaction was instantaneous: Shiro’s whole body tensed, his face reddened, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. He coughed to hide his shyness, the tips of his ears pink. “Keith!”

Keith chuckled but let it go, knowing Shiro didn’t do well with embarrassment. They were reaching the crime scene anyway so it was time to put on their serious face. Down the street they saw the red and blue lights of the police cruisers. Policemen were milling about, cordoning off the area. Young men and women huddled on one side of the street, presumably those who’d been in the bar where the murder happened. All of them would have to be interviewed in case they had heard or seen something. That task alone would take most of the morning, especially if they had to be brought to the station.

By the time Shiro parked the car, a policewoman was waiting for them to take them to the scene.

“We have three bodies,” she was saying, taking them around the building via a small backstreet, “but we suspect there were more people in the room.”

“So you’re saying someone ran off with dead bodies?” Shiro asked.

She shrugged. “This seems mob related. It wouldn’t be surprising.”

Shiro and Keith exchanged a look; she was right. A lot of mobsters did disappear off the face of the Earth, their bodies never to be found. When their bodies were indeed found, it was usually many years later, hidden somewhere or thrown into the sea.

The back alley they were guided through smelled of old refuse and cigarette smoke. The ground was littered with cigarette butts and quite a few abandoned, used syringes. The trash-cans were overflowing. There were graffiti on the brick walls, the kind that was both trashy and gorgeous at the same time. Keith took it all in, letting his eyes roam around. This was a secluded place, excellent for an ambush. The loud music coming in from the club provided the perfect cover.

Inside, Keith noted the old, naked lightbulbs, too few to light the corridor properly. Once again, another perfect cover. He didn’t like where this was going.

The backroom where the murders had been committed bustled with people. Policemen and forensic techs and photographers and all the necessary personnel to map the scene of a crime were already there despite the early hour. Keith scowled at this; he preferred to be amongst the first arrived so he could have a good look at what had happened. As it stood, he only got glimpses here and there while men and women milled about, doing their job.

Keith ignored them, making his way through the throng towards the first body. It lied crumpled on the old, dirty floor. This one was a woman in her early fifties, her red-dyed hair cascading around her head like spilled ink. Her eyes were wide open, glassy. She was wearing an expensive-looking black dress and Louboutin shoes, which clearly meant she hadn’t simply been a partygoer like the youths inside the club. Looking at the chits, cards, and piles of money resting on the table, Keith supposed she’d been gambling when disaster struck.

The death wound was pretty easy to find: a neat line on her neck going from ear to ear in the parody of a smile. Blood had spurted, drenching the floor, trickles of it dampening the neckline of her dress. There was no sign of struggles on her, no dirt beneath her painted fingernails, no wounds on her hands.

The two other bodies were similarly neat. The two men wore expensive suits and the two had been killed cleanly. Considering there had been three murders in here, the room was disconcertingly clean. Keith knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that no matter how often Pidge combed the place, she wouldn’t find anything that led to the killer.

The vigilante. That bastard had struck again. Keith’s stomach roiled in distaste. Soon he would learn these people’s identity, would surely learn that they had been worthy of a trial and a damp cell in some forgotten jail, but that wouldn’t make the bitter pill easier to swallow. This man had styled himself judge, jury, and executioner. Without a thought for the law or the natural order of things, he’d taken it upon himself to chastise the crooks of Plaht City. Keith hated him for it.

He let Shiro interview the club’s owner who’d found the bodies—Shiro was the best with witnesses. With his warm, gray eyes and gentle-giant behaviour, they always trusted him at first sight. Pidge wasn’t the lead forensics tech on this so he talked to her assistant who didn’t have much to tell him. Everything was pretty self-explanatory at first glance; three people had been assassinated by someone ridiculously skilled with a blade. They’d known more after another sweep of the place, but the tech was pretty sure the killer had left nothing behind. They’d know more after the first autopsy report, though Keith doubted he’d learn much.

There was little signs of fighting anywhere except for a small drop of blood on one wall that couldn’t be accounted for. Keith guessed there must have been bodyguards with these lofty gamblers who had been knocked unconscious; the vigilante didn’t go after hired help. Either out of misplaced loyalty or out of fear for the police, bodyguards usually made themselves scarce after their boss had been killed. Those Keith had managed to interview hadn’t been that much useful; they’d described a guy wearing a dark red suit wielding a sword. Tales varied of course, going from plausible to downright fanciful. Sifting through the chaff for the wheat wasn’t always easy. Witnesses couldn’t always be relied upon, especially not those who’d been brutalized.  

He looked around—of course there was no security camera. The vigilante was damn good at what he did; never once had more than his shadow been caught on any tape. He obviously scouted his killing ground before striking, which meant he wasn’t just some crazy guy doing this on a whim. He knew what he was doing, was good at it. He was precise, patient, utterly calm.

Keith shivered.

The morning flew by quickly. Helping Shiro, he talked to the people who’d been inside the club when the murders happened. Stinking of alcohol, sweat, cigarette smoke, and pot, the youths recounted what they thought they had seen. Some said the vigilante had walked through the crowd before reaching the backroom, others that they’d never seen him. Some had heard sounds of violence, which seemed unlikely. Others claimed to have glimpsed someone dressed in red run away. Keith thought this might lead to somewhere, until he realised that none of them could agree on which direction the vigilante had run off. Nonetheless he took note of their testimony, knowing that sometimes the tiniest detail could make or break a case.

By the time noon rolled by, he was too hungry to go on. He’d skipped breakfast in his hurry to reach the crime scene. By then his stomach grumbled and he felt a bit light-headed. He dragged his feet towards Shiro’s car after the last of the witnesses had been sent home. Shiro was texting, leaning against the trunk casually. That one silver streak in his hair gleamed under the high sun.

“I need food,” Keith whined, slumping on the car’s rear bumper.

“What? Oh, yes, it’s time for lunch. Adam texted me, he said he has the final report for Mr. Mitchell’s death. Perhaps we can pick it up?”

“After lunch, please, I don’t want to eat hospital food.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Unless you want to invite Adam for lunch?”

Shiro coughed, pocketing his phone. “No. Adam doesn’t like cafeteria food. He says it’s not healthy.”

Keith rolled his eyes; of course the guy who spent his weekends cooking, making preserves, and  _ gardening _ for fresh herbs would wrinkle his nose at a good ol’ hotdog.

They chose to stop at a small diner on the way to the hospital. Famished, Keith shamelessly ate a hamburger and fries, and washed it all down with the biggest smoothie they had on the menu. Shiro looked at him with an indulging smile, apparently content with his own salad and a glass of water. Keith loved his brother but, damn, could he be a bore sometimes. He understood however; Shiro’s health had always been precarious. He needed to be careful about what he ingested since anything could make him sick. He’d long ago foregone alcohol, any kind of fast food, and pastries. Amongst his college friends he’d always been the designated driver. Keith had lost count of how often Shiro had put him to bed after fetching him from one bar or the other, Keith being too drunk to stand on his own two feet.

“I think you should ask Adam out,” Keith said after stealing a small piece of tomato from his brother’s plate. “It’s about time the two of you got together. Seeing you pine after each other is getting painful.”

As expected, Shiro flushed to the tips of his ears. Seeing him react, one would think he was a fifteen-year old teenager being called out on his first crush. Keith would have found it endearing if they’d still been kids. As it stood, he knew Shiro missed being with someone. Shiro had buckets of love to give. When his previous boyfriend, Curtis, had moved from Plaht City to Boston for work, they’d tried the long-distance thing without much success. They were simply both too busy with their job to travel for hours to see each other. Shiro had missed having someone to go home to, missed having someone to cuddle with and spend time with. They’d broken it off after a couple of months of utter misery. Throughout it all Adam had been there, lending his shoulder. So, of course, the old flame had been rekindled in Shiro’s heart. He was back to his high school crush, more in love than ever before.

Keith had liked Curtis, had liked how soft-spoken and gentle he’d been, but he’d always favoured Adam. Perhaps it was because Adam had been a constant in his life since he met Shiro, or perhaps it was because Adam was stern and unapologetic and that he was always up for a good argument. He really wanted for Shiro and Adam to get together. Hell, he’d even bet money on it with Matt, Pidge’s older brother, that his stupid brother would get married before he turned forty. Matt had said that both Shiro and Adam would grow up old alone. Keith didn’t want this to happen.

Shiro took a sip of water, looking away. “I’m not sure he would accept.”

“Of course he would! He’s waiting for you to make the first step! You know how he is! He doesn’t want to get his heart broken, so he wants to be sure of you first!”

“Adam says he has no time for relationships.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “That’s the lamest excuse.”

“I know…”

“So just ask him out, you big doofus! Or tell him that you go to those boring lectures he gives instead of hiding in the back!”

“You know about that?!”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I’m a  _ detective _ who’s been taught by the best, aren’t I? It doesn’t take a genius, Shiro. Where else would you go on a Tuesday evening that would put such a huge smile on your face? You certainly don’t go drinking or to the strippers, I know for sure.”

Shiro hid his face in his big hands, one flesh and blood and the other made of grey alloy. “Keith!” he whined, embarrassed. “I’m pathetic.”

“Kinda, but you’re not irredeemable.  _ Ask _ him out.”

Shiro ate the last few mouthfuls of his salad. “Maybe I will.”

“Good!”

They finished their lunch in companionable silence. Keith browsed his social media accounts, kept mostly for the sake of appearance. Lance had posted a picture of Alicia and him making pancakes that morning. The counter was dusty with dropped flour. Both of them had a huge grin on their face, and Keith had to smile. He couldn’t stop himself from remembering those quiet Saturday mornings when they’d all lived together, how Lance would wake up early to bake pancakes for the whole family. It hadn’t all been bad, really. There were days when Keith actually missed the companionship they’d shared, missed the complicit looks and secretive touches.

But not enough to go back, never. Lance and he were happier now that they’d divorced. Furthermore, Keith had heard through the branches that Lance had been making eyes at the pretty young librarian named Allura who gave Sunday morning classes to children. Hunk, their mutual friend and a civil engineer, had said it was kind of disgusting how soft in the head Lance got whenever this Allura was around. If the rumours were true, Keith was happy for Lance. Despite his faults, the guy was great. He deserved a great partner who’d be willing to make time for him.

Afterwards, they made their way towards the hospital. Keith sipped a coffee, the lack of sleep of the previous night suddenly weighing heavy on his head. He had plans for tonight and he hoped they’d be home early enough to allow him time to take a nap. Not that he could say so to Shiro; he didn’t want his brother to know about that. He’d scold, otherwise.

The hospital was as busy as ever when they reached it. An ambulance fled by with a loud wailing. Patients in hospital garb smoked by the front door alongside doctors and nurses. A janitor walked by to empty the nearest trash-can. A young woman holding a newborn baby stepped out alongside a young man with tears in his eyes.

As detectives, Keith and Shiro weren’t required to wear a uniform. They both opted for casual, civilian clothes that afforded the greatest comfort. Shiro, mindful of first impressions, wore a jacket that hid the gun clipped to his belt. Keith didn’t care what people thought, didn’t care for anyone’s lingering look at the gun holster left exposed by his cropped jacket. Firearms weren’t such a rarity around these parts anyway.

Adam was waiting for them in his office. Contrary to regulations, there was a cigarette smoking in an ashtray on his desk that he made no effort to hide. Alongside it were files arrayed in neat piles, all of them colour-coded. His laptop sat to the side within easy reach. Everything about this office was utilitarian, Spartan, so much like Adam that Keith would have found the place even if his name hadn’t been on a plaque nailed to the door.

“Ah, there you are, took you long enough,” he said, hardly looking up from the file he was perusing. He tapped another file with one finger. “Here’s yours.”

Keith took the file, careful not to upset the pile. He quirked an eyebrow at Shiro who stood awkwardly on the threshold.

“I’ll peruse it outside,” Keith said, taking a meaningful stride towards the door. “You can update Shiro on the details.”

Before either man had time to protest, he was stepping into the corridor and closing the door behind him. Those stupid dorks! Why couldn’t they just  _ talk _ to each other? Keith knew he himself sucked at dialogue, but _ Shiro _ didn’t.

He leaned against the greenish-painted wall to look through the thin file. Adam’s script and the results of his inquiries were crisp. Not one word too many. Mr. Mitchell had died due to a mistake made by one nurse. Apparently, the woman had switched the blood transfusion bag to the wrong one, meaning Mr. Mitchell hadn’t gotten the blood of the right type. His body had rejected it. If he’d been healthy, he certainly would have made it. Weakened as he was after the night’s ordeal, however, it had been the last nail in the coffin.

Keith stared at the paper, frowning. This sucked. One mistake by one nurse had robbed him of a precious witness. Now, he’d never know what the man had seen the night he was attacked. He’d have to rely on clues and forensics findings rather than on human’s sight. Such damn bad luck. That frigging vigilante was so bloody lucky.

“What with the sour face, gumshoe?”

Keith looked up from the file to see a man standing there holding a brown paper bag in one hand. He recognised him immediately; this was the same man who’d been in Mr. Mitchell’s room before he died yesterday. What had Adam called him again? Ah yes, James.

“Case not proceeding as I’d like,” Keith admitted, closing the file with a snap. He quirked an eyebrow at the other man. “Are you here to see Adam?”

A nod. “Yes. He forgot his lunch again.” A shake of the brown paper bag. “I have no class this afternoon so I thought I’d drop it off to him.”

Uh, that lunch thing again. It was twice in a row that this James was stopping by the hospital to bring Adam his midday meal. Keith frowned, not liking this. Who was this guy? How did he know Adam? Were they friends? James appeared at least a decade younger than Adam. He wasn’t dressed as a doctor or as a nurse and he didn’t have the general appearance of a guy who worked behind a desk all day. The tan on his skin suggested someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. And he said that he had no class this afternoon. Did this mean he was a student? Perhaps one of Adam’s students? He did look old for that…

“Right,” Keith said guardedly.

Whoever this guy was, Keith hoped there was nothing serious between Adam and him. He felt protective on Shiro’s behalf.

James grinned. “What’s wrong? Why are you guarding this door?”

“My brother’s talking to Adam.”

As if he understood what was going through Keith’s mind, James chuckled. “Oh, yes, the infamous Takashi. I’ve heard of him. Don’t worry, I’m not interested in Adam that way, I promise. We’re mostly friends. In fact, I’m renting the apartment in Adam’s house. Sorry for the confusion.”

Oh. Keith felt foolish; he remembered Adam mentioning once or twice having a tenant, but he’d never tried learning more. “Ah,” he mumbled.

James extended his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced properly. My name’s James Griffin.”

Keith shook his hand. “Keith Kogane. Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine. You work for the police?” James nodded towards the badge easily visible on Keith’s belt.

“Yep, Shiro and I are both detectives. The guy who died yesterday was our only witness in a murder.”

“Aww, that’s too bad. Do you have other leads?”

Keith shrugged. “More or less. Forensics are all over the case. I’m sure they’ll dig up something soon. The killer was sloppy, after all.”

James shifted closer, leaning against the wall beside him like he was getting ready for a lengthy conversation. “How can you tell?”

“Do you mind gory details?”

A laugh. “No. I’m friends with a doctor, remember?”

“Right. Well, whoever did this is trying to pin it on that vigilante guy who’s been running around recently. Everybody else is eager to believe that’s what happened, but I’m not sure. The vigilante isn’t usually this messy. He doesn’t toy with his victims. The way he kills them is always clean. That poor guy we found murdered died of blood loss from multiple wounds. Like he was left to die on the pavement like a gutted pig.”

James frowned, nodding. “Makes sense.”

“The vigilante usually goes for the heart. He slides his blade between the ribs, either from front or back. If not, he goes for the throat or any large blood vessels.”

“You sound… admiring.”

Keith stared, surprised. “Of course not! Me, admiring a sicko like that?! Never! He leaves neat corpses behind him, but that’s all.”

“He does the city a service, don’t you think? Getting us rid of those mobsters?”

“No. Everybody deserves a trial, a chance to defend themselves. This guy steals that chance from them.”

“Are you saying he’s killed innocents?”

“N-no, but that doesn’t change anything. We can’t have vigilantes running around killing without impunity. That’s not how society works. One man cannot be judge, jury, and executioner.”

Out of habit, he watched James’ face as he said this. While most people agreed in principle with him, a lot of them still tended to side with the vigilante. People who’d been brutalized by the mob, who’d lost loved ones over a stupid quarrel or had been robbed, and even law enforcers sometimes approved of what the vigilante did. And how could they not? The vigilante was effective, brutally so. He did get the job done far more efficiently than the cops ever could. Not mired in laws, restrictions, and paperwork, he could barge into any house without a court order, could question any witness no matter how tight they lawyered up. Unlike the police, there was nothing or nobody stopping him.

James’ face remained placid. His purple eyes shone with mirth though. Whether he was making fun of Keith’s passion or he was simply amused at the situation was hard to say.

“You’re not wrong,” James conceded. “I guess the police has their hands tied. Working within the law is annoying.” He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially: “I totally understand. Sometimes it would be so much easier to spank a student for misbehaving rather than having to talk to them.”

Keith couldn’t stop a bark of laughter. “Thank God it’s not allowed or my ass would have been crimson throughout my high school years!”

“Hey, would it be too forward if I asked you out for a drink sometime?”

This choked his laughter. Keith stared at the other man, wide-eyed. This, he hadn’t expected, and he was usually so good at reading people. James was looking at him with a charming smile on his face. He didn’t look expectant, merely polite. There was no desperation in his tone.

He  _ is _ handsome, Keith thought stupidly. Like, ridiculously handsome, with a nice jaw and broad shoulders and a gorgeous smile. Would it be too forward of him to ask Keith out for a drink? Keith couldn’t remember the last time a guy had asked. Usually, it was straight to bed, which was how he liked things. Perhaps it would be nice to do it the old-fashioned way for once. After all, James hadn’t run away screaming after hearing him carp on about his job for half an hour like other guys did.

“Okay,” he said before he could change his mind. He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and handed it to James. “Add your phone number. I’ll call you when I have some free time. Which might not be any time soon, considering my job.”

James took the preferred phone, still smiling. “Whenever you have the time.”

He was just handing the phone back when Shiro walked out of the office, thrumming with barely-hidden excitement. He nearly stepped over James in his eagerness to go to Keith. Neatly, James winked at Keith and slipped past Shiro into Adam’s office.

“Keith, I’ve got a date!” Shiro murmured in wonderment. “Adam said yes!” His face fell. “Oh, my God. Keith, Adam said  _ yes _ . What do I do?”

“You just go, Shiro. Come on, you can tell me all about it on the way home.”

As he followed Shiro down the corridor, he glanced at his contacts. He saw that James had listed his number under  _ your future BF _ .

What a cocky bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be nice to have something to think about besides work.


	4. A Close Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoping for a lead, Keith goes back to the club. James races to follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voltron (c) Netflix & Dreamworks
> 
> ((A/N: This chapter was written by matty_macgregor!))

He watched the two detectives walk away, refusing to admit to himself that he was checking out Keith. But he was. Keith with his pretty eyes and husky voice and silky black braid and that tiny, tiny waist. Keith with his grudge against the vigilante. James had no doubt that, had he admitted the truth right there and then, Keith would have handcuffed him without a second thought.

He was playing with fire. This was dangerous. Keith Kogane was one of the best detectives on the force, the kind who didn’t let go once he had something between his teeth. Right now, his main goal was to catch the vigilante. His main goal was to catch  _ James _ .

Oh, he’d caught him, simply not the way he’d expect.

Once Shirogane and Keith had disappeared around the bend in the corridor, he shook himself. He realised with some surprise that his heart was beating wildly in his chest. What was wrong with him? Surely he couldn’t be getting excited simply because he’d talked to Keith? Yet there was no denying that the righteous fire burning in his eyes had been attractive. James had always admired passion, and Keith appeared to have bucket loads of it. James would have happily listened to him rant about his job for the whole afternoon.

Stupidly, he hoped Keith would call him soon for that drink.

Shaking himself out of his daydream, James walked into Adam’s office and put the paper bag on his desk.

“Sit,” Adam barked when he made to leave without a word. He pointed sharply at the chair in front of his desk. “Right now.”

James obeyed warily. “What’s wrong?”

“You think I didn’t see you mooning after Keith?  _ Don’t _ .”

James sat back, surprised and a little bit annoyed. He took in a breath. “I have no intention of harming him.”

“Don’t be daft. You’ll  _ both _ end up harmed if you continue with this nonsense. You think Keith won’t sniff out the truth eventually? That boy is like a hound.”

“You think I will hurt him if he finds out the truth?”

Adam sighed. He leaned back, removed his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose where the nosepiece had dug deep furrows. “James, you say you won’t, but I know you. Your own survival will always, always come first. It’s probably the only reason why you are still alive. You’ve kept people at arm’s length for a reason. Don’t change that for Keith. You can’t risk it.”

This hurt to hear. James gulped, his saliva tasting like bile. He looked down at his clasped hands. A part of him knew that Adam was right. His own survival had always come first and foremost. He’d managed to hide his true identity by keeping people away. Even his friends he kept at a careful distance, for their safety as much as for his own. It would be fine if all he wanted from Keith was a fuck. He could do that safely; bring him home, fuck him, and then send him on his way. Yet this wasn’t what he yearned for.

It sucked because it was so out of character for him. James had an analytical mind. He never jumped without looking first. Nobody had ever stirred him to do so before Keith, before a guy he’d met  _ two _ times for less than an hour. Yet the second Keith had walked into that hospital room, James had wanted him. The determination in his stride, the purpose in his eyes, the confident tilt of his head, the proud set of his shoulders, it had combined into a punch to James’ heart. He’d even dreamed of the guy, and when he’d seen him casually leaning against the wall reading over that file, he’d felt like everything would be all right with the world.

And maybe it was egocentrism talking, but James had loved hearing him talk about the vigilante, even if it had been done so in disparaging terms. He couldn’t help imagining Keith’s reaction should he bring him home and casually show him his vigilante costume. He’d be shocked, pissed, disgusted, perhaps a tad afraid too. Or would he be fascinated? Curious? There was no telling, not with a guy like Keith. James would have to get to know him better before he could form an opinion on this.

“I know,” James said with a sigh.

Adam was right, of course. He yearned to believe that he wouldn’t hurt Keith should he figure out his true identity. He  _ needed  _ to believe that he’d find a way to bring him around to his way of seeing things. He couldn’t be certain, however. If Keith tried to arrest him, if Keith ran back to his police friends, James wasn’t sure he’d simply sit back and wait to be arrested. It wasn’t like him. He couldn’t help his city from behind bars. No, if Keith found out the truth before being ready, James would have to go for some drastic measures. Keith wouldn’t be bought out, wouldn’t be threatened into silence.

The thing was that Keith wanted what was best for Plaht City too—he wanted the mob out, the gangs thrown into jail, and the streets safe to walk at night. He certainly wasn’t naïve enough to believe that the police was doing a good job at achieving any of those goals. James had to show him that the vigilante’s help was required for this to happen. Hell, if he were extremely lucky, perhaps he could get Keith to see things from his point of view, perhaps even join him in his mission. How amazing it would be to work side by side with the police rather than hide from them.

One thing at a time, though. He couldn’t get carried away. Although Keith had accepted to grab a drink with him, it didn’t mean he was interested for anything serious.

“See how it plays out,” Adam suggested not unkindly, “but you got to promise me to be careful, James. I don’t want you ending up in jail or Keith dead.”

James nodded. This was difficult for Adam; he loved both Keith and him like an older brother loves his younger siblings. He was afraid for the both of them without being able to help either.

“I promise I’ll be careful. Now, eat your lunch. I have a class to prepare for tomorrow.”

-

James went home, took a nap, and started working on the syllabus he’d present the principal for the next session. For a couple of hours, he focused entirely on it. Being a gym teacher wasn’t nearly as easy as people made it out to be. Sure there were no big written exams to prepare, but he had to come up with different activities or sports for different groups of uncaring teenagers. With autumn nearing he had to focus on indoor sports, knowing that the youths hating having to play soccer out in the cold rain.

He worked to the music of his favourite playlist, the songs ranging from Imagine Dragons’ upbeat tempo to the more relaxing notes of Enya.

His phone beeped after a while, making him look away from his computer. He was surprised to realise it was nearing eight in the evening. The windows had gone dark. Inside the house, the only light came from the screen of his laptop. He rubbed his eyes, realising he must have been sitting there working for most of the afternoon without noticing. His syllabus was nearly complete, next session’s schedule done and ready to be sent out for approval.

Putting the laptop to the side, James reached for his phone. There was an alert telling him one of the cell-phones he tracked was on the move. Keith. He’d activated the tracker in Keith’s phone earlier that day. It wouldn’t have mattered, except that he saw the detective was making for the club where he’d killed those four people last night. Why would he be going over there this late? Had there been breakthrough?

Quickly, James logged in into the station’s network to see whether Keith had filed for a request to visit the crime scene. There was nothing of the sort anywhere. Whatever he was doing was happening outside his work hours. Was he checking out the place on his own then? It wouldn’t be that surprising; from what information James had gleaned on him Keith liked to do things his own way. There were many notes to his file that mentioned disciplinary hearings because he sometimes liked to flaunt protocol.

James tried putting this out of his mind to go back to his work. He couldn’t. It niggled; he didn’t like the thought of the best detective on the force trampling around his murder scene. Keith had the eyes of a cat; what if he caught on something that had so far eluded the others? James knew he’d made sure not to leave anything behind, but  _ what if _ he’d made a mistake?

Cursing himself for a fool, he quickly got up. He considered changing into his vigilante costume before thinking better of it; it was only for killing and he had no intention of killing anybody tonight. Instead, he put on the sweatpants and long-sleeved black shirt he used to wear before he’d had the costume made. It was inconspicuous, meaning he could walk in broad daylight without having anyone giving him a second glance. He ignored the katana, opting instead of a sharp dagger that he slid into his left sleeve—no way in hell was he traipsing that neighbourhood unarmed.

Since there was no need for stealth this time, he left through the front door before making his way on foot hurriedly—taking his car would be risky. The dark clouds looming overhead promised a rain that mercifully held for the moment. He kept checking his phone, trying to gauge Keith’s progress. The tracker wasn’t precise enough; all James knew was that he was in the vicinity of the bar.

Since this was a Saturday evening, there was a lot of people milling about, most of them young adults on their way to some club. Loud music came from opened doors. Neon signs shone bright, announcing strippers or free beer. Despite the neighbourhood mostly being run by the mafia, the place thrived at night. Excitement thrummed in the air. A gaggle of girls walked by James, smiling at him engagingly. They were no more than eighteen and they made him feel ridiculously old at twenty-seven. He ignored them, too focused on the potential danger looming ahead to be swayed by a pretty smile.

Just like last night, the club thrived despite the murder that had taken place in the backroom. James was pretty sure the police had told the owner not to open tonight, which was stupid because Saturday nights were always the most lucrative for those places. The police yellow tapes had been removed everywhere except for those barring entry into the alleyway that circled the building. Making sure nobody was looking his way, James ducked under one tape. Keith didn’t seem to be here, and the tapes keeping the backdoor closed were still firmly in place. Checking his phone, James saw that Keith was indeed around, probably inside the club rather than lurking around the alleyway.

What was he doing here? This couldn’t be coincidence. He doubted very much that Keith had decided to go out clubbing and had randomly stumbled upon this place. No, knowing him, he was here looking for clues. What he expected to find, James couldn’t begin to imagine.

He debated what to do next; should he go inside or wait here? He looked at the disgusting alley that smelled of refuses, then up at the dark sky. It would soon rain. All right, he’d check on Keith and decide how to proceed from there.

He paid the entry fee to one bored-looking bouncer, a man twice James’ size who thought his muscles were impressive. James noted the baton in his belt, guessed the guy was used to dealing with trouble. He made a mental note of it.

Inside, loud music assaulted his ears. He faltered, wincing. He waited until he got used to it before walking in further. The air smelled of old sweat and spilled alcohol. Men and women were dancing on the dancefloor to the tune of some DJ. Bright spotlights illumined the place in a rainbow of colours. In dark corners, away from the crowd, James spotted couples kissing, drug deals happening, and one guy throwing up.

He lingered close to the wall, away from the spotlights not to be noticed. His eyes scanned the room, looking for a familiar mop of black hair. The pulsing of lights made it difficult to see any detail. Half a dozen times he thought he’d spotted Keith before realising this was someone else entirely. A group of people walked by him, laughing, beer glass in their hand. He ignored them.

It took him long minutes before he finally found Keith amongst the crowd. When he did, his heart did a weird leap inside his chest. Keith was leaning against the bar, nursing a glass of beer, talking to some guy. James couldn’t risk getting closer and being noticed, so he observed from a distance. They were obviously flirting. Grins and touches were exchanged. Keith was wearing pants tight enough not to leave anything to the imagination, and the shirt he’d chosen was too big on him. The neckline casually slid down one shoulder to reveal the scar of a knife wound he’d sustained years ago during a drug raid. He was so effortlessly gorgeous that James’ throat went tight. He wanted to go to him, take that guy’s place and flirt with him for the fun of it. He couldn’t though, not when Keith would ask too many questions. There was absolutely no reason to explain James’ presence here. He doubted Keith would accept that their meeting here could be accidental. He didn’t want the other to start believing he was being stalked; which wouldn’t be too far from the truth.

So James remained there watching Keith getting drunk. The guy got closer, boldly reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Keith’s ear. James told himself to go, that there was nothing to see, that Keith was simply here to have fun—he certainly couldn’t be working while getting this shitfaced. Still, James remained rooted in place. What was wrong with him? He’d never liked torturing himself. He should go home, plan his next kill, get some rest, perhaps even scrub his flat from top to bottom, anything rather than stay here watching Keith making eyes at someone else.

Keith took the decision out of his hands. With a definitive gesture, he put his empty glass on the bar. His lips moved and James read ‘ _ good night _ ’ on them. The guy tried to convince him to stay. Keith declined, waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. Unsteadily, he made his way through the crowded dance-floor towards the exit. James made sure to stay out of his line of sight, unsure whether he was too drunk to recognize him. Immense relief washed over James at the thought that Keith was going home alone.

He’d decided to wait half an hour before going home too when he saw the bloke Keith had been flirting with going after him. His resolute steps indicated he wasn’t going on a casual stroll. On his way towards the door, two more joined him. James watched, uncertain. Surely they couldn’t be dumb enough to go after Keith? Keith was a policeman, he had his gun with—except that he didn’t. He was here as a civilian, he had no badge or firearm on his person. James would have spotted it even from a good distance.

Shit.

A surge in the music drove the dancers wild. They started jumping like a bunch of possessed people, making nearly impossible for James to leave. Teeth gritted, trying not to be too rough, he elbowed his way through the throng of sweaty men and women. More than once he nearly got a slap in the face from an over-enthusiastic arm. He ducked and weaved his way towards the exit, all of his training with the sword becoming handy.

By the time he got free of ocean of bodies, he was getting his teeth so hard he felt his jaw would break. How long had it taken? Where was Keith? Where were the three guys who’d gone after him? James couldn’t see them anywhere.

He hurried out of the club into the misty night. Once on the sidewalk, he looked around. For a moment, he saw none of those he was looking for. The few pedestrians didn’t even glance at him as they walked by, totally uncaring for the unfolding drama.

Then he heard it, the sound of raised voices nearby. Taking a deep breath, James forced his heartbeat to slow. The panic receded to be replaced by cool calm, the one he’d grown used to ever since he became the vigilante. He sank into that mind frame willingly.

Silently, he made his way towards the sound of voices. It came from an alley a few doors down. Getting closer, he definitely recognised Keith’s slurred voice drowned as it was by laughter. James’ blood ran cold. He peered into the darkened corner between two decrepit buildings while sliding his dagger out of his sleeve.

The three guys from the club were indeed there. They’d cornered a very drunk Keith who had trouble standing on his own two feet. The light was bad here yet James nonetheless read stubborn resilience in the lines of his body. Then, one of the guys grabbed Keith’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him face first into the nearest wall. Blood exploded. Keith let out a muddled shout of pain. Despite this he bucked in the hold, trying to break free. James could tell he had some training; he certainly would have been able to get himself out of this if he’d been sober. As it stood, his gestures were too uncoordinated, his muscles too loose. The guy grinded his hips into Keith’s suggestively, laughing while his two friends looked on.

James saw red. The piteous whimper that escaped Keith’s bruised mouth flicked a switch in his mind.

Time lost its meaning.

By the time he came back into his head, there were three corpses on the ground bathing in their own blood. James stared, panting, feeling sticking liquid marring his fingers. He looked down to see red staining his dagger and his hand. Aghast at his own reaction, he took in the scene with a calm that frightened him. The three would-be rapists had been killed somewhat neatly; two had had their throat opened from ear to ear and the third had been stabbed. In his rage, he’d apparently missed the heart because there were stab wounds all over the man’s stomach.

Or he’d aimed to wound, to punish.

He turned his attention to Keith, realising that he wasn’t wearing his costume or his mask to hide his face. Keith had slumped down the wall, huge eyes riveted on the three unmoving bodies. There were bruises on his face as well as blood. His shirt had been torn and his pants were unzipped, sagging down his hips. The unfocused gaze meant he would soon pass out. He was shaking a bit from the fright.

James waited until his muscles went slack to go to him. Keith slumped sideways, senseless, and James had time to catch him before he hit the pavement. Cradling him with one arm, he slid his dagger back in its sheath in his sleeve. What should he do? Observing the cuts and bruises on Keith’s face, he feared the big gash on his forehead might need stitches. His nose was bent at an odd angle too so the breakage might need setting. James could fix the nose but not the gash.

First things first however: he wiped his bloody hand on the front of Keith’s shirt, ruining the red fabric further. Once sure that he was clean, he hefted the other man in his arms with some difficulty. After making sure there was nobody around, he slithered out of the alley and into a more secure location. What should he do? Should he call a Lyft or perhaps Adam? No—nobody could see him with Keith, not even an uncaring driver for hire. He knew there weren’t security cameras around this block, there were a few in his neighbourhood. While he could sneak around them easily enough, Adam’s car wouldn’t. Best go home unobserved. The fewer people knew he’d been around this part of town, the better.

Hoisting Keith up in a more secure position, James made his way back home. He huffed and puffed under his burden; Keith’s slack body made him unwieldy. Although he was slender he was in no way light. Twice James had to stop to catch his breath and rearrange his hold on the other man. Thankfully, Keith remained out like a light, his breath smelling of booze.

Sneaking around with someone in his arms proved difficult. Nevertheless, he made it nearly an hour later. By the time he reached his door he was sweating profusely, his muscles screaming. He nearly dropped Keith while he unlocked his door.

It was with immense relief that he deposited the unconscious man on the couch. He stood there for a moment, panting, allowing his muscles a chance to cool down.

Damn it, tonight had been far messier than he’d expected. That incandescent rage that had overtaken him was an un-welcomed surprise. He’d thought he’d gotten rid of it years ago. Apparently, it still lurked beneath his urbane demeanour, ready to surface.

He’d had to intervene. He couldn’t just sit back and watch those brutes rape Keith. Their death was on their own head. James had simply been there at the right moment. If they’d gone through with it, sooner or later they would have appeared on his radar and he would have killed them. The date of their execution had simply been sooner than expected.

His existential crisis would have to wait, however. He needed to take care of Keith first. Seen under the bright light of his living room, the cut on his forehead looked nasty enough.

Before he fetched Adam however, he changed into clean clothes and washed his hands thoroughly to be sure there was no trace of blood beneath his fingernails. Afterwards he scrubbed his dagger that he hid under his pillow. Then, once he was presentable, he climbed to the second floor to wake Adam up.

This had once been a weekly thing, James creeping into Adam’s apartment. The second he opened the door at the top of the stairs, he knew the older man would wake up. And, to prove him right, Adam stepped outside his bedroom as James reached the kitchen. Their apartments connected there. They never kept the door locked.

“What is it?” Adam asked, his eyes taking him from head to toe. “Are you wounded?”

“Not me. Keith is.”

Questions ran in Adam’s eyes. Sleep disappeared from his features. Disheveled, wearing his sleeping clothes, he nonetheless stepped into his role of authority, telling James to bring Keith up.

By the time James gathered his wounded guest in his arms and took him upstairs, Adam had draped his kitchen table with an old sheet. He took out his bag of tools and medicine that had been squirreled away from the hospital. James had become so familiar with its content that he could recite it from memory without problem.

He deposited Keith on the table, stepping aside to let Adam work. Although Adam did his best to hide his dismay, James caught a fleeting sense of it. He took in the torn shirt, the unbuttoned pants, the bleeding gash on the forehead, and the bruises littering many inches of his skin.

“What happened?” Adam asked, putting on gloves with practiced ease. He touched the wound on the forehead first. “I know you didn’t do this, but I need to hear it from you.”

Little flames of anger tried to lick at James’ consciousness. He pushed them away ruthlessly. “I didn’t. He was assaulted outside a club. It’s actually a mercy that I was there or you’d be doing more than sponging blood off his face.”

Adam threw him a sharp look. “What were you doing there?”

James met his stare unflinchingly. “Following him. I thought he was sniffing at the crime scene.”

Adam’s lips thinned in disapproval. The staring contest lasted no more than a couple of seconds, mercifully. Adam returned his attention to Keith, hands hovering.

“This is a bad idea,” he claimed. “I can’t treat him here. We have to take him to the hospital. He’ll have too many questions if he wakes up in my house.” He removed his gloves with a snap. “I’ll head over. Give me ten minutes and then bring him in. I’ll take care of him.”

James remained unmoving, uncertain, weighing the outcomes of this decision. It wasn’t that Adam was wrong; Keith would indeed ask many questions if he woke up battered in Adam’s house. Who had brought him in? Who knew him well enough to be aware of his acquaintance with a doctor and who’d know where this doctor lived? James couldn’t involve himself in this, couldn’t say he just happened to be at the same club as Keith. Keith wouldn’t content himself with those half-assed explanations; his inquisitive mind would probe deeper.

No, Adam was right; it would make the most sense for Keith to wake up at the hospital.

James nodded. Adam left to get changed.

James waited until a good fifteen minutes had passed, checking on Keith often, before bringing him to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that could've gone much, much worse! Good thing the vigilante was conveniently there!


	5. Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith wakes up in the hospital to find out he was saved by the vigilante.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voltron (c) Netflix & Dreamworks

Pain muffled in a cloud of confusion greeted him. Slowly, ever so slowly, his consciousness clawed its way to the forefront of his mind. A quiet hum greeted his ears first. Then, he noted that his mouth tasted like old wool and that his throat was parched. Next, the throbbing akin to a drumbeat pulsing from behind his eyes made itself known. A groan tore itself free from his clenched teeth. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did everything hurt so bad?

Keith’s eyelids fluttered open carefully. A white, cracked ceiling was the first thing he saw, which made no sense because his bedroom ceiling was dark blue. The smells were wrong too as were the scratchy blankets.

Slowly the nimbus of panic stretched until his vision cleared enough for him to realise he was in a hospital room. This didn’t make a lick of sense; why was he in a hospital room? He’d been…

Keith’s mind drifted a little. He’d been… what? There was a terrifying hole in his memory that he couldn’t account for. It wasn’t like him to suffer blackouts, not even when he got drunk. He didn’t understand the throbbing pain in his face either. What had he been doing to be this damn battered? His hands touched his nose, his forehead covered in thick gauze, his swollen lips.

Looking towards the window, he saw that the sky was beginning to lighten. The whole night had gone away from him. He tried not to panic; there had to be an explanation. He’d done… he’d been…

He’d been going to the club to verify some witnesses’ testimony, that was it. Yes, he’d planned to go to that club and see for himself if it was possible that some people had heard gunshots through the walls and music. He’d doubted it, especially considering the fact that there had been only one retrieved bullet and the witnesses had said they were hearing multiple gunshots.

He couldn’t remember what he had concluded, however. He had leaned against the bar, ordered a beer, and things got fuzzy afterward. Shit, he hoped he hadn’t gotten himself stuck into a drinking contest or something. He’d loved those when he’d been a young-adult fresh out of high school. He’d been able to drink guys twice his size under the table. Since his graduation from the police academy though, he’d kept his drinking to a minimum. It didn’t sound like him to have slipped so severely, not even on a Saturday evening.

 Turning his head painfully on the pillow, he spotted his cellphone resting on the bedside table. Moving his arm to get it seemed impossible at the moment. He felt heavy and brittle, like the tiniest breeze could blow him away. He groaned in both pain and annoyance. Questions ran in his brain like headless chickens.

A nurse walked in, all smiles and neatly pressed white uniform.

“Oh, you’re awake!” she said cheerfully, going to check his vitals. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit. Adam Wagner, is he here?”

“Doctor Wagner? Yes. Would you like to talk to him?”

“Yes, please.”

She didn’t seem to be in a hurry to help him with his request. She took her time checking him over, poking and probing in places that hurt like hell. He gritted his teeth through it, refusing to whine or show discomfort. A lifetime or two later, she noted her findings down on a pad before leaving with a cheerful wave of her hand. She didn’t tell him whether she was fetching Adam or not.

He hoped she was. He’d get out of this damn bed and fetch him himself otherwise. Adam was the only doctor he trusted enough in this dizzy state.

Finally, when he thought he’d have to get up, Adam decided it was time to show up. As always he looked totally unflappable, not a hair out of place, though he did look slightly pale. There was thankfully warmth in his brown eyes, which Keith took to mean he’d be spared a lecture for once.

Just like the nurse, he went on to check his vitals and the drip.

“What’s that?” Keith asked weakly.

“Saline. You were quite dehydrated. It will help flush the alcohol and drugs out of your system.”

“What do you mean drugs? I don’t do drugs, you know it.”

Adam sighed. “Perhaps not willingly.”

Dread slithered down Keith’s back. He swallowed with difficulty, his throat suddenly dreadfully dry. “Are you saying I was roofied?”

“I’m waiting for the final lab tests, but I’m afraid there was something slipped into your drink.”

“What?! I’m a policeman! Who’d be stupid enough—“

“You weren’t a policeman at that bar, Keith. To the man who did this, you were simply a pretty boy accepting drinks from a stranger. What were you _thinking_?” Adam demanded, voice tight.

Keith shrank back, chastised. “I was hoping to make a break in the case.” He mumbled.  
  
“Well, you took a huge risk for it.” Adam sighed. “That vigilante brought you to the hospital. Dropped you off in the lobby and stayed just long enough to make sure you got treated before he left.”   
  
“He was HERE?!” Keith sat up, which quickly proved to be a stupid, stupid idea when he felt his wounds react to the movement. “Ow, ow, ow.” He lay back down gingerly. “He was _here_ and you let him _walk off_ ?!”   
  
“I was more focused on _you_ . Besides, I wouldn’t have detained him even if you weren’t in dire need.” Adam said, sighing heavily. “He was the one that told us what almost happened to you. If he hadn’t been there, you’d probably be back in that alley he saved you from right now.”   
  
“Oh, so I’m supposed to be grateful and feel indebted to a murderer?!” Keith snapped.   
  
“You’re supposed to take this as a lesson and not do anything so foolish again!” Adam said firmly.   
  
“Is everything okay?” They heard James ask calmly.   
  
Adam and Keith looked over to see James and Shiro in the doorway, both of them looking worried. Shiro walked over to Keith. “What happened?”   
  
“Nothing. I’m fine.” Keith glanced away. He couldn’t let Shiro know he’d taken such a risky move, he’d insist on being called before he did such a thing again.   
  
Adam sighed and adjusted his glasses - Keith couldn’t help but be amused at how the action made Shiro’s pulse increase a bit - before turning to Shiro. “Keith was assaulted outside a club over by the dock--”   
  
“Assaulted? Wait, why were you there?” Shiro asked, looking at Keith.   
   
“I was investigating a crime scene!” Keith blurted.   
  
“--and was brought here by your unnamed vigilante.” Adam finished. “According to him, he’d found a roofied Keith being assaulted by three guys and stepped in to take care of the problem.”   
  
“Meaning he killed them.” Keith frowned.   
  
James leaned against the doorway, letting them talk without interruptions.   
  
  
Shiro groaned and brought a hand to his head. “Keith, how could you do something to reckless?! And alone?!”   
      
_Here we go…_ Keith sighed. “Whatever, it’s done and over with already.” He grumbled. “I learned my lesson.” He paused. “...Wait. Why was the vigilante back there?” His eyes lit up. “He must’ve left a clue and was going to try and stop us from finding it! We have to--owwww.” He groaned, laying back down after enthusiastically sitting up.   
      
“Clearly, _you’re_ not going anywhere yet.” James remarked with a chuckle before he walked over to join them. “Adam, why don’t you go take a break, maybe get something to eat with Officer Shiro? I can watch Keith.”   
      
Adam pursed his lips, giving James an annoyed “I know what you’re doing” look before he cleared his throat. “I have work to do. I can’t just take off when I’m attending to my patient. You are not a doctor or even a nurse, James.”   
      
“Alright.” James shrugged, then leaned over Keith a bit. “How are you feeling?”   
      
“Everything hurts, but I’m apparently not violated, so there’s that.” Keith sighed heavily. “I wish you didn’t see me like this.”   
      
Shiro glanced at them, then at Adam. “So, tell me what all happened?” He nodded to the hallway. “I want a full report.”   
      
Adam glanced at James and Keith and then sighed, heading out of the room.   
      
This was a bad idea. Playing with fire gets you burned, James.   
      
James watched them go, then looked back at Keith. “When I heard you were in the hospital...I got worried. I thought maybe the mob had got you or something.”   
      
“Why would the mob want me?” Keith raised an eyebrow.   
      
“Any number of reasons, Keith.” James pursed his lips grimly. “One of which being what you were apparently rescued from.” He looked at him with concern. “If that vigilante guy hadn’t been there…” He gripped Keith’s blanket a bit. “I can’t bear the thought.”   
      
“I’m just pissed off that I actually met the guy and didn’t actually get to _meet_ him.” Keith huffed.   
      
“Well, who knows?” James shrugged. “You could get lucky again.”   
      
“Hopefully I’ll be conscious this time.” Keith sighed, then looked up as the door opened and Lance came in, looking worried. “Hey.”   
      
“Shiro...he told me what happened, he...you...why?” Lance sputtered, walking over to him. “You could’ve been killed, you know!”   
      
“Well, according to Daredevil, the thugs had other plans.” Keith smiled wryly. “Did Shiro call you here?”   
      
“No, I was here anyway and he told me you were here.” Lance sighed heavily. “Keith, you--”   
      
James cleared his throat. Lance looked up like he’d just noticed he was there and James gave a little wave. “If you want, I can step out of the room so you can talk.”   
      
“Uh...sure.” Lance nodded.   
      
James got up and headed out. Lance looked at Keith. “So...you back in the dating scene? I thought you were married to your work or something.”   
      
Keith gave him a sour look. “I’ve just been really focused, okay? This guy is really elusive. Did Pidge find anything? Anything at all?”   
      
“Nada. Whoever this guy is, he’s really, really good at covering his tracks.” Lance looked Keith over. “Looks like Shiro and me are gonna have to work doubletime to make up for you being in the hospital. Try not to get killed by a rogue nurse while you're here, huh?”   
      
Keith sighed heavily at the reminder of how he’d lost the witness at the careless hands of a murderous nurse.   
      
“How’s Alicia?” Keith asked softly, deciding to change the subject.   
      
“She doesn’t know you’re in here yet.” Lance sighed. “Want me to tell her?”   
      
“No.” Keith shook his head. “I don’t want her to see me in such a sorry state.”   
      
Lance chuckled a bit. “You’ve always been so prideful.”   
      
Keith pursed his lips. “I can’t have her thinking I’m weak.”   
      
Lance reached up to rub his head. “Well, I gotta get back to work.”   
      
“Wait, why were you here?” Keith asked.   
      
“I was visiting an assault victim I brought in.” Lance turned to the door. “Don’t forget about the rest of the crime out there while you’ve got your tunnel-vision on Daredevil.” He headed for the door. “See you, Keith.”   
      
Keith sighed, watching him go. “See you…”   
      
It wasn’t that he’d forgotten there was other crime. He just really wanted to stop this guy that was taking on the role of judge, jury and executioner, while evading the police at every turn.   
      
He couldn’t have a guy like that in his town…   
      
\-   
      
That night, Keith was woken up by the sensation of being watched in his hospital room. He slowly opened his eyes to see it was still dark, and winced as he turned his head.   
      
Glowing, golden, lifeless eyes stared back at him from the darkness.   
      
The vigilante.   
      
Keith gasped and started to sit up, then bit back a groan, staring at those eyes with his heart pounding in his chest.   
      
Why was he here? Did he decide to kill Keith for some reason?   
      
Did he get too close?   
      
“You…” He breathed.   
      
“You seem well.” The vigilante said, his rich, deep voice muffled by the mask he wore. “That’s good.”   
      
“Good?” Keith watched him warily. “It’s _good_?”   
      
“You’re really stupid, you know that?”   
    _  
Excuse the fuck out of me? _   
      
“What kind of a cop is stupid enough to accept a drink from a stranger in a club, or to leave it unattended?”   
      
Oh, so now he was being scolded by _Mr. Murder_ over here. If he could move, he’d probably throw something at him. As it was, he may as well have been monologuing.   
      
“This town is rough enough without people that should fucking _know_ better making rookie mistakes.” The eyes moved closer and Keith noticed he couldn’t hear his steps. “If I hadn’t been there, you would’ve been raped and, if you were lucky, left there to be found in the morning. Worst case, you would’ve been sold to a sex trafficking ring.”   
      
“Oh, _that’s_ the worst case?” Keith couldn’t help but retort. “Not being killed?”   
      
“I’d say that’s a fate worse than death.” The eyes shifted up and down and Keith realized he was looking him over. “No, someone like you, they’d keep alive until you broke and then use you like a sex toy.”   
      
“How did you even get in here?” Keith asked, glancing around.   
      
“It’s a hospital. not exactly difficult. Anyways, I’ve gotten into far more difficult places to do justice.” The eyes stopped next to him and Keith could almost make out a shape in the darkness. “You’re smart, determined, a fun challenge. I’d hate to hear about your death on the news, especially in such a pitiful way. Someone like you, you should go out with a bang.”   
      
“What do you know about me?” Keith frowned.   
      
“Is that an actual question, or just an indignant response?” The vigilante chuckled.   
      
“Both.” Keith winced and sighed.   
      
“It must hurt. You should rest for a few days.”   
      
“And let you do whatever you want? I don’t think so.” Keith snapped. “Here’s an idea, why don’t _you_ take a break!”   
      
“When I’m an idiot that gets roofied and almost raped outside a club and needs to be bedridden for a few days, sure. I’ll take a break. But, until then, crime never sleeps. And neither do I.”   
      
Keith snorted derisively. “Okay, Daredevil.”   
      
To his surprise, the vigilante actually let out a heavy sigh and one eye was partly concealed by a gloved hand. “Call me whatever you want. I don’t need a name, but if you must _have_ one for your files, use a fictional comic book anti-hero. Sure.”   
      
Keith chuckled a bit. “Oh, wow. That _actually bothers you_ ?”   
      
“I don’t like being compared to them.” The vigilante admitted.   
      
“Then, stop acting like one!” Keith raised his voice a bit.   
      
“I’m right here, you don’t need to shout.” The golden eyes squinted a bit.   
      
“Why _are_ you here?” Keith huffed. “To take advantage of the fact I can’t arrest you?”   
      
The vigilante was silent for a bit, and then Keith tensed as he felt something - a gloved hand - touch his cheek. “I was worried about you. That’s all.”   
      
The eyes vanished suddenly and Keith tensed, glancing around. The hand was still on his cheek and...he felt unmasked lips touch his forehead before the lips and hand disappeared and then the golden eyes were back for only a moment before they disappeared. Then the window opened and shut, leaving Keith alone.   
      
“...Did he just kiss me?” Keith said, still processing the moment.   
      
Sure it was on the forehead, but a kiss from a criminal was still a kiss from a criminal! What!!!!   
      
Ugh, how was he going to go back to sleep _now_?   
      
The vigilante had some soft lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, at least we know what his lips feel like! Not really gonna help, but at least we know that much!


	6. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his visit to the hospital to see Keith, James has some work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voltron (c) Netflix and Dreamworks

Takatakataktakatakatakatakatakataka   
  
Clickclickclick   
  
Takatakatakatakataka   
  
“‘Crime doesn’t sleep, and neither do I?’ Really, James?”   
  
James paused in his typing and glanced up at the man leaning against his doorway. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”   
  
“And  _ you _ weren’t supposed to be taking that risk. He could’ve called for a nurse at any time, or used the remote to turn the light on.” Adam chided.   
  
“I was in uniform.” James went back to his typing.   
  
“You still shouldn’t have done it. You’ve been avoiding being seen by anyone that wouldn’t become a target later. Don’t you realize that he could’ve seen your body-shape and started comparing it to people he’d seen?” Adam left the doorway and walked over to him. “What are you doing?”   
  
“Those thugs had some interesting messages in their phones. I’m following up on what I read.” James said, still typing and clicking, his eyes shifting to watch his work.   
  
“Oh?” Adam couldn’t help it, he had to know. “What did you find out?”   
  
“They were at the club to get some new...home entertainment. It was coded, but I figured it out.” He sat back, scowling at the screen. “Keith is so goddamn lucky I was there. Look at this. It’s disgusting. I have to take them out.”   
  
“Be careful.” Adam sighed.   
  
“I’m always careful.” James said, glancing away from the horrifying images to look at him. He long ago grew desensitized to the images of sex trafficking and other horrid crimes. “But, Keith wasn’t targeted by chance. He was targeted on purpose. They planned to jump him on the street until they saw him in the club, they’d been casing his home and workplace for weeks.”   
  
Adam cringed. “Why was he targeted?”   
  
“I have no idea. Maybe he got too close to something. Maybe he was just too pretty and too damn public. His face is all over the fucking ‘net. He’s been voted the prettiest cop by forums, and some of the comments were downright disgusting.”   
  
“Alright, so he was targeted. Do you think he’ll be safe at the hospital?” Adam asked. “Obviously he wouldn’t be safe at home, not in this condition.”   
  
“The media hasn’t caught wind of his being attacked yet - and it’s going to stay that way.” James sighed and stopped typing. “So, yeah, he should be safe. I’m going to focus on the area around his home, catch these bastards that have been casing it. You keep him safe.”   
  
“Is Shiro going to be alright?” Adam couldn’t help the fear that gripped him.   
  
“You’re going on a date with him tonight, aren’t you? That should keep him occupied long enough for me to hunt these guys down. He’s not on their list, they want small, pretty and effeminate guys.” James leaned back and stretched out his arms, his fingers laced together in front of him. “Which, sorry Keith, you are.”   
  
Adam snorted.   
  
“I’m going to take a nap.” James exited the site, erased it from his browsing history, and then closed all his windows before shutting down his laptop. “Keith had me up late.”   
  
“Well, he never  _ asked _ for you to sneak into his hospital room like a creeper.” Adam said sarcastically.   
  
James shrugged. “He wanted to meet the vigilante.”   
  
Adam reached over and swatted his head. “Idiot.”   
  
“Oww! What kind of doctor hits people?” James pouted up at him.   
  
“The kind that’s getting real tired of your shit.” Adam chuckled a bit. “Have you eaten?”   
  
“I’ll eat after my nap.” James yawned.   
  
“James.” Adam frowned.   
  
“I promise.” James grinned up at him.   
  
Adam sighed and then walked over to the door. “Don’t you have school soon?”   
  
James blinked and then checked the clock. “... _ Shit. _ ” He quickly got up and ran to the bathroom to shower.   
  
Adam went to the kitchen to dutifully make him something easy to take on the go. It wasn’t like him to lose track of time, Keith was really twisting James up. This wasn’t good.   
  
If James wasn’t a vigilante, and Keith wasn’t a cop, maybe he could support this relationship. But, this was not that world, and James’ affection for the young cop was going to get him in trouble. He just knew it.   
  
But, he also knew that if you told someone “don’t”, they will say “screw you, I’m doing it”.   
  
Oh, he could feel the headache growing.   
  
James came out of the bathroom freshly cleaned and dressed. Adam wordlessly passed him the sandwich he’d made for him and James took it and the sack lunch before heading out the door.   
  
Adam sighed. “Have a good day at work, James.”   
  
-   
  
Waiting was always annoying.    
  
Usually, he knew exactly where his target was and could go there after they were already there. But, he didn’t know when these guys would show up. He silently watched from the shadows as Adam came to pick up Shiro for their date and then they were driving off, leaving the house deserted.   
  
And now he was waiting.   
  
It finally paid off when he saw some figures step out of a dark van and approach the building. They hadn’t seen him leave the house, so they must’ve assumed Keith was still inside. alone.    
  
Sorry, Keith. Gonna make a mess of your home.   
  
He silently watched as they picked the lock of the front door and went into the darkened home. After waiting a few minutes, he slipped inside and shut the door, leaning against it to listen to them looking around the house for their target.   
  
“Yo, he ain’t here!”   
  
“Well, I didn’t see him leave, and he wasn’t at work!”   
  
“Well, he ain’t here!”   
  
“Come on, let’s get back.”   
  
James heard footsteps approaching him and then snapped his eyes open, alerting them to his presence.   
  
They pulled guns, but that was nothing for his Kevlar uniform.    
  
They threw fists, but he was faster.    
  
He killed three of the four men in his usual manner and then used chloroform on the last guy. He struggled, but gave in in the end. Jaames hauled him out to his van and drove it to his “secret hideout”, where he stashed the guy in the basement of a dojo that had been burnt down before he took the van and drove it to the nearest junkyard. Then he went back to Keith’s home to make sure there was no evidence left behind that could lead to his true identity.   
  
In retrospect, he should’ve put tarps over the furniture. Well, that would’ve been too suspicious. Keith would just have to deal with his furniture being bloodstained.   
  
He heard a car pulling up and slipped out the back door he’d left open when he arrived. His work here was done. Now to question his captive.   
  
As soon as he woke up.   
  
Oh, the  _ waiting _ !   
  
-   
  
Adam didn’t have to pretend to be horrified about the crime scene he and Shiro came home to. It was  _ grisley _ . Three dead bodies, all cut in James’ trademark way of slicing the throat in a way that reduced the blood spray, but there was still so much blood. He heard Shiro calling in to the station to report the scene and stepped outside when Shiro asked him to.   
  
“Shit...what were they doing here?” Shiro muttered, frowning. “Oh, man...Keith isn’t going to like this. I guess I could sleep at the office, can’t exactly sleep at a crime scene…”   
  
And, in one of the dumbest ideas in the history of dumb ideas, Adam blurted out “You could stay with me.”   
  
Shiro looked at him, his eyes wide and his cheeks pink. “I...uhh...are you sure?”   
  
Before Adam could reply, the other police officers were on the scene, and the place was cordoned off with yellow and black police tape while the officers went to do their work.   
  
“I mean...if it’s not too...uh, awkward for you.” Adam said, watching as pictures were taken of the scene and the place was scoured for evidence.   
  
“Then...that’d be great.” Shiro smiled. “Thanks.”   
  
“Shiro, what happened?” One of the officers asked him.    
Why were they here?”   
  
“I really wish I knew.” Shiro frowned. “I was on a date with Adam when this happened.”   
  
“Well, we’ll do what we can to find out. It’s a good thing Keith isn’t here.” The officer cringed. “He’s in no state to fight anyone.”   
  
“Yeah.” Shiro nodded.   
  
-   
  
“Hhngg…”  

  
“Rise and shine, criminal.” James cooed. “It’s time for you to answer some questions for me.”   
  
“Huh?” The man looked up through bleary eyes and took in the sight of the red and orange-clothed man before him, who was in the process of sharpening a katana.   
  
“It’ll go a lot easier for you if you cooperate.” James sheathed his sword and leaned forward in his chair a bit. “Let’s start with the name of your boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to interrogate!

**Author's Note:**

> What is "justice"?


End file.
